


Raise Your Lantern High

by starfishstar



Series: Be the Light in My Lantern [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, a romance but also much more than that, during half-blood prince, what the adults of the Order were doing all that time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 114,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5417678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishstar/pseuds/starfishstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Remus and Tonks fight battles, arrest criminals, befriend werewolves, overcome inner demons and, despite it all, find themselves a happy ending. A love story, and a story of the Order years. (My Remus/Tonks epic, years in the making! This is the second half of the story, set in the Half-Blood Prince year.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get Back On

**Author's Note:**

> “Be the Light in My Lantern” (the OotP year) and “Raise Your Lantern High” (the HBP year) were originally conceived as one massive story; they’ve since decided to split into two separate parts, comprising a series. You’re welcome to go read “[Be the Light in My Lantern](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2255736/chapters/4952196)” first, but if you want to dive right into “Raise Your Lantern High,” I think you’ll do all right if you just know the following:
> 
> BtLiML follows the “behind-the-scenes” of what the adults of the HP world were doing during the year of OotP, and especially the growing friendship between Remus and Tonks, as well as Sirius. After many chapters of longing and UST, and a few ups and downs, R/T finally strike up a tentative relationship…which falls apart again due to Remus’ doubts about whether he can allow himself to get close to Tonks, and Tonks’ frustration over him being so changeable. They are tentatively working their way back towards a second, stronger courtship…when Sirius’ death in the battle at the Ministry changes everything.
> 
> Please note that, while this story is painstakingly true to canon, it disregards the supplementary information on Pottermore, having been written largely before Pottermore existed!
> 
> The most enormous of thanks go to…
> 
> …J. K. Rowling for this amazing world she made. (Any characters, scenes and dialogue you recognise are from the book and belong to JKR!)
> 
> …stereolightning for so much invaluable beta-reading, co-pondering and motivation.
> 
> Additional writers who’ve influenced me:
> 
> chelseyb1010 got me thinking about Tonks and how to make her HBP year-long mope in character; this story is an attempt to be true to what we saw in canon, while also giving Tonks a worthier story than what little we glimpsed of her in the book during that year.
> 
> Sam Starbuck, aka copperbadge, is the first fic writer I came across who gave the werewolves a culture of their own; he unquestionably inspired my own writing of the werewolves, especially the Alpha. I highly recommend Sam’s Remus-centric story “[Amid My Solitude](http://www.fictionalley.org/authors/samvimes/AMS.html)”…and everything else he’s written.
> 
> I think I may have subconsciously drawn on shimotsuki’s werewolf character Bess as well, from her [Kaleidoscope](http://shimotsuki.livejournal.com/5460.html) series.
> 
> Title more or less drawn from this W. B. Yeats quotation: “I have believed the best of every man. And find that to believe is enough to make a bad man show him at his best, or even a good man swings his lantern higher.” (Thank you to stereolightning for that quotation!)

 

 

_You’re gonna reach the water_  
_You’re gonna get across_  
_You’re gonna walk miles_  
_You’re gonna get lost_  
_You’re gonna fall down_  
_But when you fall_  
_You’ll get back on_  
  
_–Roland Satterwhite, Get Back On_

  
  
Mostly, Remus walked.  
  
All those first bright days of summer, as the world bloomed and burst into colour around him, Remus walked and walked, not caring where to, only following wherever his desperately escaping feet led him.  
  
Molly and Arthur had found him at St Mungo’s and brought him home with them, telling him to stay as long as he needed. So Remus sometimes slept there at the Burrow, or tried to sleep, lying on the narrow bed in Bill’s old room and staring blankly up at a poster Bill must have stuck to the ceiling years ago, of a pretty witch waving from a flying carpet. When Molly put food in front of Remus, he ate it. When Molly and Arthur asked him how he was, their concern painfully evident in their voices, Remus said he was fine.  
  
In the rare hours when he did sleep, Remus found himself back in Godric’s Hollow, watching Lily fretting over baby Harry and James laughing and reassuring her, but reaching out, too, to hold his son close when he thought Lily didn’t see.  
  
Then Remus was on that street among the twelve dead innocent Muggles, and saw Sirius as Remus and all the world had believed him all those years, mad and laughing.  
  
Then it was September and Remus went to King’s Cross and James and Lily were there, no older than the day he’d last seen them, seeing Harry off on the train with the rest of the Order.  
  
Remus was in the Department of Mysteries and Sirius fell through the veil again, and again, as Harry screamed in grief. Then it was Tonks who fell, landing still and cold as death in the white shroud of a bed at St Mungo’s.  
  
Most mornings, Remus started awake from these dreams in a cold sweat, long before dawn. Then went out again to walk and walk, to keep himself moving until he was too exhausted to think.  
  
His legs first burned with exertion, then grew numb with fatigue, and Remus would raise his head late in the evening, when the midsummer sun was finally, reluctantly slipping away behind the trees, to find that dusk was falling and a chill creeping into the air. Often, when Remus finally looked up, he had no idea where he was.  
  
Far worse was when he looked and did know where he was. A field where he and James and Lily and Sirius had once picnicked. A rocky stretch of coast on the Isle of Mull where Sirius had dared James to jump into the icy sea fully clothed. A little neighbourhood park in London where they’d once all got very drunk and had to restrain Sirius from running to his parents’ house for an ill-conceived confrontation.  
  
Remus didn’t mean to Apparate to these places, but he thought of them and then he was there.  
  
A cottage on the coast where they’d once holidayed all together.  
  
The village square in Godric’s Hollow.  
  
Hogsmeade.  
  
It shouldn’t matter. He had lost everyone else. Surely he could bear to lose Sirius, too. Remus just had to keep breathing, and walking. If he walked long enough, perhaps this terrible weight of grief would ease from his throat.  
  
Those early summer days were so bright. All through the horrible, endless, unreal days in which Remus wandered the length and breadth of Britain, the sun was blinding, bleaching out even the most vibrant leaves and trees and flowers into a nightmare wash of white, so painful Remus could barely stand to look.  
  
If only he had ordered Sirius to stay back at Headquarters –  
  
If he had battled Bellatrix, if he had been the one to reach her instead of Sirius, if he had been faster and interceded –  
  
_If_ was how Remus spent so much of his life.  
  
If only he had made sure they all kept talking to each other, in those increasingly tense days when Lily and James and Harry were in hiding. If only they had _talked_ to each other, instead of withdrawing into their individual suspicions, retreating from one another to the point that James and Lily hadn’t even told Remus when they switched Secret-Keepers.  
  
If he had gone looking for Sirius, somehow, after that horrible Halloween, instead of running away to nurse his grief alone.  
  
If he’d pushed Dumbledore to find something, anything, better for Sirius than staying trapped in the house at Grimmauld Place until he’d grown reckless with his own life.  
  
_If_ , Remus thought, as he walked himself beyond the point of exhaustion all through those first bright days of summer, those stark sun-flooded days that pained his eyes and wrenched his heart. But what good was _if_? _If_ could never turn back time.  
  
Sirius was dead. Like James and Lily before him, and like Remus would be someday after him.  
  
Sirius was dead, and his death threw Remus’ world into sharp relief. That naïve man who’d begun to believe he might truly be able to embark on a second courtship with Tonks and do things right this time – that man now belonged to a world Remus could barely remember having once inhabited.  
  
Sirius was dead. Harry, too, could be dead now, if Remus hadn’t held him back from flinging himself after Sirius through the veil.  
  
But Harry wasn’t dead, and Tonks wasn’t dead, and Remus would give anything to ensure that both those things remained true. Even his own happiness.  
  
Out of the morass of guilt through which Remus struggled each day, three cold, solid facts began to crystallise, like rock salt left behind when an expanse of sea evaporates into the air. He must do all he could for the Order. He must keep Harry safe. And he must reverse the damage he had caused when he’d let himself believe that he, a dangerous Dark creature dogged relentlessly by tragedy, should ever have allowed himself near Nymphadora Tonks.  
  
– – – – –  
  
On Tonks’ first day back at work, after she’d recuperated from her injuries from the battle at the Ministry, she drifted through the Auror Office, feeling weightless and unreal. She traced one hand along the edge of her desk, glancing around at the others’ workstations. Buckwaite, Dawlish, Buckle. None of them were in the office at the moment – all were out chasing after Death Eaters. From across the way, Savage raised a collegial hand in greeting from behind a mound of paperwork.  
  
Tonks nodded to him, then glanced towards the corner office, with its walls of magical glass that could be rendered opaque or translucent with a flick of a wand. Gawain Robards, formerly a senior Auror, reigned in that office now. Their new head of the department, he’d replaced Scrimgeour when Scrimgeour became Minister for Magic.  
  
Robards’ office walls were transparent at the moment, and Tonks could see her new boss hunched over his desk with his hair standing wildly on end as he raked his fingers through it. Tonks didn’t envy him, thrust into running the whole department in a country that was plunging into war. And it was war. No one denied that anymore.  
  
Tonks glared at the pile of parchment rolls waiting for her on her desk. But she threw herself down into her chair, resigned to fighting her way through the backlog of work that had accumulated while she was in hospital. Fact-checking reports was dull and she loathed it, but at least it was something she could do. Tonks so desperately needed something to do, some way to feel she could make a difference in this war.  
  
And besides, if she threw herself into her work every waking hour, maybe she wouldn’t have to think about the hollow ache in her chest that was all that was left of Sirius.  
  
– – – – –  
  
Arriving at the Burrow for the first full Order meeting since that night at the Ministry, Tonks was met at the door by Mad-Eye Moody, who flung a barrage of security questions at her before finally allowing her inside. When she reached the kitchen, most of the members of the Order were already gathered around the table.  
  
“Wotcher,” Tonks said to the assembled crowd, aiming for cheerful and falling short. She got a round of nods and greetings in response. Remus wasn’t there yet.  
  
He’d been avoiding her. He’d disappeared from Tonks’ bedside after the first time she woke up in St Mungo’s after the battle, and she hadn’t seen him since.  
  
_Give him some time,_ Moody had said, when he came by the hospital to lend Tonks his gruff but welcome company.  
  
_I don’t think he’s ready for company just yet, dear,_ Molly had said, her mouth tugging downwards with worry, when Tonks saw her after being discharged from St Mungo’s.  
  
It hurt, knowing that Remus was grieving the same grief as Tonks was, but he wouldn’t share it with her. Things had been good between them, strangely and sweetly good, despite the bleakness of the gathering war. They had been working their careful way back together, making sure they knew how to really be friends to each other, first. And then – this. Remus gone, frozen away behind his own grief.  
  
Tonks kept telling herself to be patient, because Remus had lost more than anyone should ever have to lose, and he deserved the space to grapple with his grief in whatever way he needed. But she missed his company desperately.  
  
She slid into one of the few remaining seats at the kitchen table, and was absorbed in apologising to Emmeline for jostling her elbow when she heard someone say, “Hello, Remus.” Tonks’ head jolted up and her eyes snapped to the doorway.  
  
He looked straight at her and his face contracted painfully in a way that might have passed for a smile to someone who didn’t know better. But Tonks knew better. Before she could react, he looked away.  
  
Tonks dug her fingernails into her palms and reminded herself fiercely, _Give him time._  
  
Dumbledore swept into the room then and took his place at the head of the table, tall and majestic in his midnight blue robes. “Welcome,” he said, his piercing gaze taking in all of them in turn. “Before we turn to business, I would like to say a few words.” Dumbledore cleared his throat, uncharacteristically sombre. “As you know, we lost one of our own in the battle at the Ministry.”  
  
Tonks’ throat ached. She hadn’t even known how much she’d come to depend on Sirius to always be there, until was gone.  
  
“It’s a small comfort, I realise,” Dumbledore was saying quietly, “but Rufus Scrimgeour has agreed to open an inquiry into the mistrial that sent Sirius to Azkaban. I have every confidence his name will be cleared.”  
  
Tonks’ eyes burned. Some comfort that was. Sirius was _dead_.  
  
An enormous sob rent the stillness: Hagrid. “Sirius was a good man!” he wailed. As Hagrid sniffled and dabbed his eyes with his enormous handkerchief, Tonks looked around the room, and saw her grief reflected back at her. Even Molly, who’d so often been at odds with Sirius, was red-eyed. And Remus – Tonks looked away again, unable to stand the sight. His face was a mask, and it terrified her.  
  
After a respectful silence, Dumbledore moved on to business. They talked of Hogwarts’ defences, Arthur’s promotion at the Ministry. Kingsley would be protecting the Muggle Prime Minister. Mad-Eye and Emmeline had been able to retrieve sensitive documents from 12 Grimmauld Place.  
  
Dumbledore gestured in response to a question from Moody, and Tonks noticed that his hand was blackened and withered. It quickly disappeared out of sight again into Dumbledore’s sleeve, but not before she saw. It hadn’t been like that at the last Order meeting.  
  
“Nymphadora?”  
  
Tonks jerked her gaze back to his face. “Yes, sir?”  
  
Dumbledore smiled in that crinkling-eyed way he had. “I know you’ve come to expect always the same from me, but I do have a specific request for you this time. There’s a possibility that a few select Aurors will be asked to take up a position elsewhere, outside of London. If this falls to you, might I ask if you would be amenable? The assignment would, however, require you to live away from London.”  
  
Summoning all her strength of will, Tonks managed not to look at Remus as she answered. “Yes, sir,” she said to Dumbledore. “Of course.”  
  
When the meeting wrapped up, Tonks saw Dumbledore step aside with Snape. Curious, she strained her hearing just a bit – one of those little Metamorphmagus advantages – to hear what they were saying.  
  
She’d just caught Snape’s “– and he’s very angry about failing to get what he wanted. It looks as though he may –” when his voice cut off and a low buzzing filled her ears. Snape had cast a spell to block her from hearing.  
  
Well, fine. She didn’t need to know what those two were planning. She trusted Dumbledore and, oh, all right, she could trust Snape too, if she had to. She didn’t have much of a choice, did she?  
  
Just as long as their plans didn’t involve sacrificing anyone else she cared about.  
  
– – – – –  
  
Life went on as normal, if anything about Tonks’ life could be called normal now, with the Aurors working overtime every day, trying desperately to stem the flood of violence.  
  
She was part of a response team that managed to stop a Dementor attack before it happened, for once, which was gratifying. Merlin, she hated being around those things, though. The morning after that mission, Tonks didn’t even bother to transform anything about her appearance, though she usually altered at least something, even if it was just her hair. But after a day of driving back Dementors, she didn’t much feel like it.  
  
Then, arriving home after another long shift, Tonks opened the door of her flat to the sight of Moody’s raven Patronus diving in through the window.  
  
Tonks’ stomach clenched. Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had been killed just two days before, and all signs suggested Voldemort had committed the murder personally. Moody’s Patronus had found Tonks that time, too. It seemed to be a horrible new Order protocol, individual Patronus messages to all members, informing them of each loss.  
  
Tonks shut the door and pressed her back against it. Her stomach had gone clenched and icy cold. “Who is it?” she asked aloud, even though she knew very well that wasn’t how Patronuses worked, you didn’t hold conversations with them. All you could do was listen for the message they’d been sent with.  
  
“Emmeline Vance has been killed. She was murdered in her home by Death Eaters,” said Moody’s implacable voice. Anybody who didn’t know him as well as Tonks did wouldn’t have been able to hear that this news upset him, but Tonks could tell.  
  
“No,” she said out loud.  
  
Tough, stoic Emmeline. Another person Tonks had thought would simply always be there.  
  
“ _No_ ,” she said again, but Moody’s silver raven faded back out the window and Tonks found herself staring at a blank stretch of wall. Amelia Bones was dead. Emmeline was dead. _Sirius_ was dead. Before she had time to think what she was doing, Tonks had flung herself back out the door of her flat and Disapparated.  
  
She landed on the front step of her parents’ house slightly off-balance, caught herself, and rang the bell before she had time to question herself for this, twenty-three and still running to Mum and Dad when things got to be too much.  
  
Her dad opened the door, surprise on his face. “Doradee?”  
  
“Dad,” Tonks said, then she burst into tears and flung herself at him.  
  
“Dora,” Ted said, his arms enclosing her, strong and big and warm like his hugs always were. “What is it? What’s happened?”  
  
“Nothing – nothing’s happened exactly, it’s just –” Reluctantly, Tonks pulled her face from the comforting softness of her father’s jumper and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s not one single thing. It’s just – it’s just – everything is falling _apart_!” she wailed, her voice spiralling up and out of control.  
  
Her dad got one gentle hand around her elbow and steered Tonks inside the house. He settled her on the sofa, sat down next to her and offered her a handkerchief. Tonks sniffled gracelessly into it and blew her nose.  
  
Finally, she balled the handkerchief up in her fist and glared down at it. She didn’t trust herself to look at her dad and not burst into tears again. “Did you hear about Emmeline Vance?” she asked, making her voice as matter-of-fact as she could. “She was murdered by Death Eaters, earlier today. And that’s right after Amelia Bones…”  
  
“Emmeline Vance?” Ted’s voice was shocked. Tonks nodded helplessly.  
  
“Nymphadora? What’s going on?” Her mother stood in the doorway.  
  
“Emmeline Vance is dead,” Tonks’ father answered, looking across the room at her mother.  
  
“Oh, Merlin,” Andromeda said, and came and sat down on Tonks’ other side.  
  
Ted looked between the both of them and declared, “I’ll make tea.” He pushed himself up from the sofa and headed for the kitchen.  
  
“Did you know her?” Tonks asked her mum, her hands still twisting the handkerchief in her lap.  
  
“Emmeline? Not well. But I remember her from school. I always admired her.” Andromeda’s gaze was distant. “And here I’d hoped we’d finished with all this a generation ago.”  
  
Tonks tossed the handkerchief down on the sofa. “You do know that Voldemort’s been back and gathering the Death Eaters together for over a year now, right? This isn’t exactly the first sign that he’s fighting a war again.”  
  
“Yes, Nymphadora, I do pay attention to current events. I said ‘hoped,’ not ‘believed,’ which is unfortunately not the same thing.” Andromeda glanced over at Tonks and her tone softened. “How are your Order people holding up?”  
  
Tonks shrugged. “Fine, I guess. We go on, because we have to.”  
  
“And Remus?”  
  
Tonks tensed. “What about Remus?”  
  
“He and Sirius were very close. How is he holding up?”  
  
“Hard to say, since Remus isn’t talking to me,” Tonks said bitterly, before she could stop herself.  
  
“I’m sorry, he _what_?”  
  
Oh, no. There was that dangerous tigress tone her mother got when she felt one of her own was being threatened. And well-meaning though that attitude might be, Tonks didn’t have the nerves for it just at the moment. “He’s got a lot to deal with, okay?” she snapped. “And I’m trying to be understanding about it, because he _just lost his best friend_.”  
  
Andromeda’s expression was still dangerous. “Does that man know you’re the best thing that ever happened to him?”  
  
“Actually, yeah, he _does_ , and that’s why he pulls this oh-I-am-not-worthy crap, but it’s really complicated, and I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Even as the words left her mouth, Tonks knew it was a petty thing to say.  
  
Her mother’s eyes flashed, as she stood in one fluid motion. “Well. I can see my sympathy isn’t needed here.”  
  
She stalked towards the sitting room door, just as Tonks’ father appeared there with a teapot and cups set out on an old flower-patterned enamel tray they’d been using as long as Tonks could remember.  
  
“Excuse me,” Andromeda said frostily, and Ted stepped back to let her pass. Tonks heard her going upstairs, her footsteps as measured and controlled as ever.  
  
Her father came and set the tea tray down on the end table next to the sofa, then gave Tonks a look. “What was that about?”  
  
“I – oh, Merlin, I don’t even know. I said – she was – she brought up Remus and – she doesn’t _get_ it, Dad!”  
  
Ted raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not going to pretend I understood that last sentence.” He sat down next Tonks and turned to the tray on the end table to pour the tea. “But sweetheart, try to remember you’re not the only one who’s just lost her favourite cousin. Your mother is grieving for Sirius right now.”  
  
“Hard to tell, when she doesn’t _act_ sad,” Tonks grumbled.  
  
“But she is. Here.” Her dad handed her a teacup, wafting fragrant steam, and Tonks lifted it close to her nose and breathed in the familiar scent. Her dad made the best tea, a blend of his own that nobody else ever got quite right. “Now,” Ted said. “What’s this about Remus? Anything you want to talk about?”  
  
Tonks opened her mouth and what tumbled out was, “I keep thinking he blames me. For – for Sirius. I – when I look at Remus and he won’t look back, I can’t help thinking he blames me.”  
  
“Sweetheart, why in Merlin’s name would Remus blame you?”  
  
“Because I was duelling Bellatrix!” she burst out. “And I let her get me, and then she got Sirius, and that wouldn’t have happened if I’d defeated her first! And Remus didn’t want to let Sirius come with us to the Ministry that night, and I said he should let him, and he came to the battle and he d – died!”  
  
To Tonks’ embarrassment, she was crying again. Her dad reached over and took her teacup out of her hands, set it down on the table, and pulled Tonks to him, letting her press her face into his shoulder. It was immoderately consoling, that familiar scratch wool against her cheek.  
  
“Sweetheart, listen to me,” he said. “Sirius was a grown man. So is Remus. They’re responsible for the choices they made, not you, not anyone else.”  
  
“But if I’d killed Bellatrix when I had the chance –”  
  
She felt her dad’s shudder. He pulled away enough to look her straight in the eye and said, “Then you would be a murderer. And Sirius might still have died in that battle at the hands of some other Death Eater. Dora, please don’t go down that path. It will make you mad.”  
  
“It’s the damn Auror code,” she growled. “Not using lethal force without cause, incapacitating suspects instead of harming… It’s the right thing, I _know_ it’s the right thing, but when they’re aiming to kill? Seriously, are we just supposed to stand there and cast _Impedimenta_ at them?”  
  
Her father looked at her seriously. “Could you have cast Avada Kedavra at Bellatrix? Truly?”  
  
“ _Now_ I could.”  
  
“For your sake, my love, I hope that’s not true.”  
  
He smoothed a hand over Tonks’ hair. Strands of it flicked past the edges of her vision, and she remembered it was brown today, again. She’d forgotten again that morning to bother with her appearance. It just didn’t seem important lately to have amusing hair.  
  
“Have you talked to Remus?” her dad asked. “You could at least give him the chance to tell you he doesn’t blame you.”  
  
“Can’t,” Tonks grumbled, and leaned into her father’s shoulder again. “He’s been avoiding me since – since the battle.”  
  
She felt her dad’s shoulder lift in surprise beneath her cheek. “But it seemed like you two were doing well. You seemed quite close when we saw him at your birthday.”  
  
“We were,” Tonks sighed. “I thought we were.” Her birthday had been one of the last good times before the battle at the Ministry. A quiet evening in the basement kitchen at Grimmauld Place with her parents, Sirius and Remus, with cake and presents and the warmth of being surrounded by the people she cared about most.  
  
Officially, she and Remus had been “just friends” at that point, but in truth they’d been each other’s main bulwark amidst the stress and fear of the war. They’d been slowly building back up the trust between them, trying to take it slow, but that night they’d given in and kissed in the darkened dining room of Sirius’ house. And Remus had given her… Tonks’ hand hovered over the locket she still wore under her T-shirt. Remus’ mother’s locket.  
  
She stilled her hand and made it drop to her lap. “And now – he won’t even look at me. He’s my _friend_ , Dad, if nothing else. I want to be there for him and he won’t let me.”  
  
Her dad smoothed her hair again and Tonks sniffled angrily, determined not to cry anymore.  
  
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Ted murmured against her hair. “You come from a proud family tradition of picking the difficult ones.”  
  
Tonks snorted. “ _You_ gave Mum the run-around? Right.”  
  
She could hear the smile in her father’s voice. “Not quite. More the other way round.”  
  
Tonks pulled back and stared at him. “She left her family for you! What more could you want in the way of grand, romantic gestures?”  
  
Ted’s smile was fond. “All true, but she left me hanging for quite a while first. Up to the very day she cut ties with her family, she would never tell me for certain whether she was going to be able to go through with it.”  
  
Tonks shook her head, still sceptical. “That doesn’t sound like Mum.”  
  
“Your mother never does anything until she’s absolutely sure it’s the right choice,” her dad said. “Anyway, the point is that she came around in the end. Or maybe the point is that I didn’t give up on her. Frankly, I’m not sure what the point is. Love is hard, sweetheart. I wish I could tell you otherwise.”  
  
“I never said I _loved_ Remus,” Tonks grumbled.  
  
Her father just smiled and let her snuggle back into the curve of his arm.  
  
– – – – –  
  
“It’s good to see you, Remus.”  
  
Dumbledore’s smile was warm as he opened the Hogwarts gates, but there was sympathy in his eyes, and Remus ducked his head, not wanting to see it. “You as well, sir,” he said.  
  
“If you’ll just follow me.” Dumbledore locked the gates behind them, and swept up the long drive towards the school.  
  
Following half a step behind, Remus steeled himself for the conversation to come. He’d known what this meeting would be about from the moment a Hogwarts owl had arrived at the Burrow with a letter bearing Remus’ name in Dumbledore’s spiky hand.  
  
“I’m very sorry about Sirius,” Dumbledore said, as the castle’s enormous oak front doors swung shut behind them. Remus’ step stuttered at his words. “You have my sincerest apologies, for everything.”  
  
_For everything_. Remus’ mind reeled back through Sirius’ life – his cold upbringing, the family tension after he was Sorted into Gryffindor, the Ministry’s shameful mistrial, his twelve years falsely imprisoned. His rashness, his cruel streak, his unbending loyalty to those he loved. All these had had a hand in his death. For how much exactly was Dumbledore claiming culpability?  
  
“Thank you, sir,” Remus said, his voice coming out brittle, his steps uneven on the cold flagstones of the floor. They walked in silence the rest of the way through the castle’s labyrinthine halls to the headmaster’s office.  
  
“Have a seat,” Dumbledore said, offering the chair across from his desk with a small but precise wave of his hand.  
  
Remus sat. He felt, as always, strangely young and old at once, to be sitting here across the desk from his former headmaster.  
  
Dumbledore produced tea from – somewhere. The teapot wasn’t there and then it was, Conjured with the slightest flick of Dumbledore’s wand. Dumbledore directed it to pour into two cups and politely enquired, “Lemon?”  
  
“Yes, please,” Remus said, because why not commit fully to everything that was bizarre about this encounter? Sirius was dead, Remus was about to risk his life, and Dumbledore was offering him lemon with his tea.  
  
Remus took the offered wedge of lemon, stirred his tea, then sipped and found that it was perfect, of course. One couldn’t expect otherwise, with Dumbledore. Then he looked up at the headmaster, who was regarding him seriously.  
  
“I won’t spy on them anymore,” Remus said. “But I will go and live among them.”  
  
Dumbledore tilted his head politely.  
  
Remus shrugged, only half apologetic. “Well, we know what it is you want me to do. It’s only a matter of discussing the terms.”  
  
Dumbledore’s face creased into a smile. “Ah, Remus,” he said. “All these years, and I continue to underestimate you.”  
  
Not sure what he ought to make of that, Remus said, “This past year, it’s been about keeping an ear to the ground, dropping in here or there to see what they were saying, which way they were leaning. Keeping a low profile, burning no bridges but making no ties. But how much have I ever really learned, spending a night with a pack, then moving on? If I’m to do this, I want to do it properly. Which means choosing one pack and joining them fully.”  
  
Dumbledore nodded, all traces of his smile gone. “It will be dangerous.”  
  
“I know.”

“Do you wish to go _because_ it will be dangerous?”  
  
“No,” Remus said, then he stopped and gave that question the consideration it deserved. He knew what Dumbledore was asking: Was Remus running into the embrace of danger because he would rather sacrifice himself for the sake of the Order than go on living with his grief? “No,” he said again, finally. “I want to go because there’s at least a hope that it might help.”  
  
Dumbledore nodded, still grave _._  
  
“I’ve thought it over,” Remus said, “and I won’t go as a missionary. I won’t go there telling them that rejoining human society would be better than what they have now, or better than anything Voldemort can offer them. How can I claim to know that’s true? I don’t know who they are or what they need. And I don’t want to lie anymore. I don’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not. So before you suggest I spin some story to gain their trust, pretend I’ve been rejected by human society and am seeking refuge… It won’t work. They can smell deceit, and they’ll know if I’m lying.”  
  
Remus could lie well when he had to, but not well enough to fool a pack of werewolves over the long term. Because yes, he had often been rejected in his life, but never completely, never by everyone. And for better or worse, there were humans for whom he cared deeply.  
  
“If you were to say you were disappointed with the life human society has afforded you – would that be a lie?” Dumbledore asked quietly.  
  
Remus swallowed. “No. I suppose not.”  
  
“Or that you want a better life for werewolves, within or without the society we call human, and that you’re searching for the best way to make that idea a reality?”  
  
“That wouldn’t be a lie,” Remus agreed.  
  
“Or, perhaps, that you’ve lived all your life among humans, and now that you sense a great battle coming, you feel a need to live among your own kind and understand what this fight will mean for them?”  
  
Remus shivered. “No. None of that is a lie. I can tell them all those things honestly.”  
  
Dumbledore gave him a small smile, and gently swirled the tea in his cup. “You’re a very good man, Remus. Please don’t forget that.”  
  
Remus squared his shoulders. “There’s one other thing. I will never run with Fenrir Greyback’s pack.”  
  
Dumbledore’s expression turned grave. “And I would never ask you to.”  
  
Remus nodded. “Then I’ll go.”  
  
– – – – –  
  
Arthur must have waited up for him.  
  
Remus returned to the Burrow late, after his meeting with Dumbledore. He undid the layers of defensive charms that protected the back door of the house and let himself inside. He hadn’t wanted Molly and Arthur to show him their defensive spells – it was yet another vulnerability, when they’d already shared so much – but the alternative would have been to leave them waiting up for him when he went outside to walk and walk at all hours of the night through the very worst of his grief, so Remus had acquiesced.  
  
Tonight, though, he found Arthur at the kitchen table.  
  
“Ah, Remus, hullo,” Arthur said, as if it were commonplace for him to be sitting alone at the table in the dim kitchen, and just as normal for Remus to be passing through so late at night. Arthur had a bottle of beer in front of him, a rare sight in the Weasley household. “Like to join me for a drink?”  
  
Remus blinked at him. “Sure,” he said. Then, “Sorry I’m back so late. I had a meeting with Dumbledore.”  
  
Arthur’s tense posture eased at those words. A meeting with Dumbledore, that was an understandable reason to be out after midnight. Remus knew the real reason Arthur was sitting up so late was out of concern for Remus, with his uncontrollable grief and his restless nights. It was time for Remus to get himself under control and stop worrying his friends.  
  
Arthur waved his wand and called, “ _Accio_ beer,” and a second bottle slid out of the cold cupboard, landed on the table and neatly uncapped itself.  
  
Feeling now how weary he was, Remus slid gratefully into the seat across from Arthur and lifted the bottle. “Cheers.”  
  
“Cheers,” Arthur replied. He took a sip, then ventured, “What was your meeting with Dumbledore about? Anything you’re allowed to talk about?”  
  
Remus considered it and decided, if he couldn’t trust Arthur, who _could_ he trust? “I think it’s all right to give you the general outline,” he said. He paused, running a finger around the lip of the bottle. “I’ll be trying to gain acceptance as a member of one of Britain’s werewolf packs.”  
  
“Ah, another spying mission,” Arthur said sympathetically.  
  
“Not precisely. If all goes well, I’ll be living with them for a while.”  
  
Arthur’s pale eyebrows shot up. “Living with them! Why?”  
  
Remus sighed, finger still tracing the shape of the bottle in front of him. “I’ve spent this last year travelling the continent, visiting different werewolf groups, and all I’ve really learned is that a day here or there isn’t enough for me to get a full picture of what they think and feel. It’s time for me to go and live among my kind, and try to understand how they see the world.”  
  
“They’re not your kind,” Arthur said, and Remus glanced up, surprised by the fierceness in his voice. “Remus, you’re one of us. You’re one of _our_ kind.”  
  
“I – I suppose so,” Remus agreed, touched by Arthur’s support despite the factual inaccuracy of the statement. “But you can’t deny I’m uniquely qualified for this. It would be remiss of me to waste the opportunity.”  
  
Arthur rested his drink on the table and whistled softly. “So you’re going to live with werewolves. For how long?”  
  
“As long as necessary. It’s hard to say until I’m there. I’ll most likely start out around the next full moon – it’s generally the time when werewolves are at their most receptive to outsiders.”  
  
“Merlin, Remus. Molly’s going to be distraught when she hears this. Speaking of which…” Arthur rolled his upright beer bottle thoughtfully back and forth between both hands. “Have you talked to Tonks yet?”  
  
Remus looked at him, trying to keep his expression carefully blank. “Why would I need to talk to Tonks?”  
  
“ _Remus_ ,” Arthur said, and Remus read everything he needed to know in the tone of Arthur’s voice. Apparently his connection with Tonks, which he’d tried so hard to keep strictly private, was not so secret after all.  
  
Remus dropped his head into his hands. “How many people know?”  
  
“Not everyone!” Arthur hastened to assure him. “Certainly not everyone. But for those of us who are paying attention, and who care about you… Well, I’d have to be blind, frankly.”  
  
Remus groaned, but forced himself to lift his head and meet Arthur’s gaze. “I’ve been a fool.”  
  
Arthur gave a slow shake of his head. “I’m not sure anyone else really shares your definition of ‘fool,’ Remus.”  
  
“I let us grow close, which I never should have done, even though I knew better. Now all I can do is try to reverse that damage.”  
  
Arthur stared at him. “You’re not serious?”  
  
“I’m very much serious. And in fact, going away is the best thing I could do. At least I can give Dora a chance to move on.”  
  
Arthur was still staring at Remus as if he had said something inconceivably strange. “But – did I misunderstand? I was quite sure – I mean, you do love her, don’t you?”  
  
“That doesn’t enter into it,” Remus said firmly.  
  
“But –”  
  
“Arthur, please don’t argue with me. I’ve done enough arguing with myself, and this is for the best.”  
  
Arthur continued to stare in disbelief, and for a moment Remus thought he really was going to continue to argue. But finally Arthur said, still sounding shocked, “So, er, the werewolves…where will this be, exactly? If you’re allowed to say?”  
  
Remus grasped gratefully onto this less painful topic. “There are four active packs still living in different parts of the British Isles; we’ve decided I’ll try to join the one in Scotland. They live on the moors there, near the edges of the Highlands, and they’re a bit more open-minded than the others, from what I’ve seen. Less likely to attack a stranger simply for being there.”  
  
Arthur’s eyebrows rose again. “Will it be very dangerous?”  
  
“Not particularly,” Remus said, far more breezily than he felt. “I know what I’m doing,” he added, which was at least halfway to the truth. “The members of this pack don’t behave savagely, under normal circumstances. They don’t set out to turn humans, not like Greyback and his pack do. Mostly they keep to themselves and hunt animals, and they don’t bother humans if humans don’t bother them.”  
  
“But if humans do approach them? Or, I mean, a werewolf who’s spent a great deal of time in the company of humans?”  
  
Remus smiled wryly. “I go in with my belly low to the ground, head straight for the Alpha and bare my throat. _Metaphorically_ speaking, I mean,” he added, when Arthur’s eyes widened in alarm. “Truly, Arthur, I’ve been doing this for months now. I know how to approach an Alpha werewolf.”  
  
“Goodness,” Arthur said, taking a shaky sip of beer. “I certainly hope you do.”  
  
– – – – –  
  
Remus stood in the doorway and gazed at Tonks across the dimly lit pub.  
  
The place was crowded with Muggle employees loosening their ties over a pint of bitter, but Remus’ eyes found Tonks unerringly through the throng. She was at a small table near the back, hunched over a pint glass, and she looked terrible. Beautiful – she was never not beautiful – but so weary. And her hair was its natural brown, never a good sign.  
  
In avoiding Tonks, Remus knew, he had been taking the coward’s route for too long.  
  
He worked his way through the noisy crowd to the bar and ordered himself the cheapest cider on the menu, more for something to do with his hands than because he wanted to drink it. Then he crossed the room and slid onto the seat opposite Tonks.  
  
“Hello, Dora.”  
  
Tonks looked up, and the smile that swept across her face in that first moment of her surprise erased some of the weariness there. “Remus!” she cried. She started to reach out towards him, then arrested the movement and jerkily returned her hand to her glass instead.  
  
Remus gripped the edge of the table with both hands, because he didn’t know if he could do this, sit across a table from Tonks and not care.  
  
She slipped her wand from her sleeve and cast a spell that would mute their voices in the ears of anyone nearby. Then she asked softly, “How are you doing?”  
  
Remus nodded automatically. “I’m fine.”  
  
“Remus.” Frustration rendered her voice ragged. “How are you _really_?”  
  
Remus lifted his cider and sipped it, tried to focus himself around the sour, cheap taste of apple on his tongue. “Dora –” he began, then stopped himself. “I’m doing all right,” he repeated.  
  
Tonks scowled, then visibly forced herself not to scowl. “Okay,” she said. “I’m glad.”  
  
“I’ve been staying at the Burrow,” he said, for something to say. “But I’ll clear out before Harry arrives. Molly has her hands full enough, with Hermione arriving, and Fleur. And there are Ministry security experts in and out every day, double-checking everything before Harry gets there.”  
  
Tonks’ mouth twisted in concern. “Where will you stay?”  
  
“At Headquarters, if Dumbledore finds it’s safe to return there.” There would be work to do to re-establish the place, and Remus might as well be the one to do it. No reason not to return to 12 Grimmauld Place except his own ghosts, and he had lived with those long enough.  
  
Emotions flickered across Tonks’ face. “You’re going back to Sirius’ house?”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Remus said, because if he said it aloud enough times, it might become true. It had worked last time, hadn’t it, fifteen years ago? Clumsily, he shifted the conversation away from himself. “What about you? Is that, er –” He gestured at her brown hair. “Is that a fashion choice?”  
  
Tonks blew out a frustrated breath. “It’s been getting harder to change my appearance. Since – since Sirius. That’s never happened to me before. I guess it’ll get easier again in a while.” Then she lifted miserable eyes to meet his and blurted out, “I’d understand if you blame me. For Sirius.”  
  
Remus felt the shock of what she’d said in the centre of his chest. The desire to respond by reaching out to her was so strong, but he mustn’t, he _mustn’t_. “Why in the name of all magic would I blame you?”  
  
The pain in Tonks’ face was unbearable. “Because I was the one fighting Bellatrix. Before. And I didn’t stop her.”  
  
Remus shivered at the memory of Tonks lying chalk white and deathly still amidst the rubble on the steps in the Death Chamber. “Dora, I don’t blame you for that. I could never blame you for that. I’m only glad she didn’t kill you, too. If there is fault, it’s mine. I should never have allowed Sirius to come with us that night.”  
  
“Don’t blame yourself,” Tonks said fiercely. “I don’t blame you for what Sirius chose to do.”  
  
Staring down at the glass in his hands, Remus said softly, “Harry must surely blame me, though.”  
  
“What does that mean?” Tonks’ voice was sharp with worry.  
  
“I held him back,” Remus said. He cleared his throat against the growing tightness there, but it didn’t help. “When Sirius fell – in that first moment, when he’d only just fallen, Harry was screaming, he was trying to go after Sirius, he thought he could still pull him back from behind the veil – and – I stopped him. I held him back.”  
  
“Yes, because otherwise _Harry would have died, too_.”  
  
“And I would never let that happen. But perhaps he was right. Perhaps there was still time to pull Sirius back, and I took that choice away from him.”  
  
“Remus.” Tonks’ voice had taken on a deeper note of alarm now. “I know I’m not an Unspeakable, but I do know that’s not how it works. Once you pass through something like that, that’s it. You don’t come back.”  
  
“Maybe not,” Remus said quietly. “But I can’t help wondering. It was my fault Sirius was at the Ministry that night. I should have been the one to try to bring him back.”  
  
“ _Then you would be dead_ ,” Tonks said, her voice rising. “Do you hear what you’re saying?”

“It’s my duty to protect others. That’s always been my duty. And I failed.”  
  
Tonks’ eyes were wide with alarm. This pain, this worry – this was why he had to let her go.  
  
Quickly, before he could lose his nerve, Remus said, “Dora, I’ll be going away soon, for the Order. By the end of the summer, and perhaps for a long time. I wouldn’t want you to – to wait, or to expect that – things could eventually be again as they were before.”  
  
Her mouth rounded in surprise. “Where are you going?”  
  
“On another mission for Dumbledore, but for longer this time. So, truly, it would be better –”  
  
“That’s not an answer,” Tonks growled. “Remus, _where are you going_?”  
  
“Does it matter where?”  
  
“It matters to me!”  
  
His resolve to protect her from the dangerous details was crumbling. Remus closed his eyes for one brief moment and sighed. “I will be trying to gain acceptance to live full-time with one of the British werewolf packs. The one in Scotland.”  
  
“What!” Tonks yelled. Her glass slid from her shaking hand, skidding wetly across a pool of condensation on the table. “You WHAT?”  
  
Remus reached out and halted the glass’ progress. Tonks grabbed it back, then shoved it distractedly aside. Her face had gone white.  
  
“You – you – you bloody _idiot_. What, are you trying to get yourself killed? I thought you’d _gone_ to all the packs already. I thought you’d _done_ everything Dumbledore expected of you. What good does it do anybody, you risking your life?”  
  
Remus glanced around them – yes, their raised voices were beginning to attract attention, breaking beyond the confines of a muffling charm that wasn’t meant to contain more than a conversational level of noise. Leaning in so he could speak quietly, Remus murmured, “There’s a chance I can forge real contacts, establish allies, if I stick with one group long enough to build up trust. The Order needs this, and I’m the only one who can do it.”  
  
Her voice shaking and her elbows planted on the table, her words quiet but furious, Tonks said, “What if I asked you not to go? Would that change anything?”  
  
Remus shook his head, throat tight. “Dora, I have to do this.”  
  
She was breathing hard. “I know things are awful right now, I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through, but don’t – don’t throw yourself into something this dangerous. _Please_. I’m worried about you. You’re making me worried.”  
  
“I’ll be fine –”  
  
“I’m trying to be understanding here, okay? But it’s hard. This is really hard. And I want – I still hope –” She scowled down at the scuffed surface of the wooden table, then back up at him. “Remus, after we’ve got through this worst part, I hope –”  
  
“No,” he said, and he heard how harsh his voice sounded, in the urgency of needing to make her understand. “I made a – mistake. I’m sorry for it.”  
  
Tonks glared at him. “What was the ‘mistake’? Was it me? Am I your mistake?”  
  
“I don’t mean it like that.”  
  
“Then how _do_ you mean it, Remus?”  
  
This shouldn’t be so hard. Remus knew he was right. He clenched his glass between his hands. “The mistake, the only mistake, came in allowing us to become close. You deserve better, so much better, and I…I would always put you in danger.”  
  
Tonks waved an arm in frustration, and from force of habit Remus shot out one hand again to catch her glass before she knocked it over. He righted the glass, and Tonks glared down at it, then at him. “You know what?” she said, her voice fierce and low. “Tell me that you’re happier not being together. Right now. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want this? Because if you can tell me that and mean it, I’ll get up and walk away right now.”  
  
She glared across the table at him expectantly. And Remus tried and tried, but he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t bring himself to lie to Tonks. But he couldn’t allow himself to tell her what she wanted to hear either.  
  
“I’m leaving,” he said doggedly. “I can’t promise anything beyond that.”  
  
“And will you keep yourself safe?” Tonks demanded. “Are you even going to try?”  
  
“Of course I will!” Remus said, feeling irked at last that everyone seemed to think he had a death wish. “I’m doing this for the Order, not for a lark. But I’ll stay as long as the Order needs me to stay. My duty is to the Order first.”  
  
“At the expense of yourself?”  
  
Remus had no answer to that. This was how it had always been.  
  
Tonks pushed herself up from her seat, her breath ragged. “You know what? Fine. You’re always going to do whatever you want, aren’t you, no matter what anybody else thinks. No matter how much anybody else _cares_. You want to walk away, you want to throw yourself into danger, fine. Since apparently it doesn’t matter to you what anyone who cares about you thinks, you just go on and do whatever you want, Remus.”  
  
She slammed her hand down on the table, then turned and stormed away, leaving a startled swath of interrupted conversations in her wake as she burst out of the muffled bubble of their conversation and through the room at large. The pub door slammed shut behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I always mention how my various stories fit together chronologically, I'll drop in here that "[Among these Fields of Gold](http://archiveofourown.org/works/628742)" (Remus returning to 12 Grimmauld Place in search of memories to hold onto) would fall somewhere within this chapter.
> 
> Also, mostly just because it amuses me: I wrote this chapter of Raise Your Lantern High, with Ted describing his courtship with Andromeda, long before I wrote the story of said courtship. So when I wrote “[A New World Bursting into Bloom](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1961700)" (Andromeda and Ted's love story) and also “[Go On, Try](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2009031)” (a DH-era Remus/Tonks story that references Ted and Andromeda's history), I had to work to keep these stories compliant to a headcanon I'd already established...in a story I hadn't yet posted. Something about that amuses me. But now it's all here!
> 
> Haven't quite decided my posting rhythm/day yet, but hopefully a chapter a week!


	2. Sympathy from All Sides but the Right One

_So much present inside my present_  
_Inside my present so much past_  
  
_– Feist, Past in Present_

 

Remus let himself into the Burrow by the back kitchen door and found Arthur drying his dishes after a late supper. Arthur often worked long past the family's suppertime these days, but Molly always left food for him, carefully enveloped in a Perpetual Warming Charm.

Arthur slid his plate and glass neatly back into their places on the shelf, stowed his wand away, and glanced at Remus. "How's Tonks?"

Remus had walked alone through London for a long time after leaving the pub, but he could still see the hurt and anger on Tonks' face. "She's all right…" he said, though he wasn't sure how true that was. "But it seems she's been…having trouble changing her appearance."

His stomach twisted again at the thought. How much of that difficulty was attributable to Remus himself?

"It's been a hard time for everyone," Arthur said gently. "And Tonks was close to Sirius." He gave Remus a searching look, but seemed to assess accurately that the last thing Remus wanted just then was to have a heart-to-heart about it. Instead, Arthur rested a hand briefly on Remus' shoulder as he crossed the kitchen. "Good night," he said. "I'm for bed."

"Oh! Sorry." Hermione had appeared in the kitchen doorway without either of them noticing, and Arthur nearly walked into her. "Sorry, Mr Weasley."

"Not at all, Hermione. Though I would have thought all of you would be in bed by now. Couldn't sleep?"

"I was just reading for a bit," Hermione said, still looking embarrassed at having disturbed them. "Ginny's asleep, but I'm still wide awake, somehow. I thought I'd get a glass of water."

"Of course," Arthur said, stepping through the doorway past Hermione and waving her into the kitchen. "Well, good night, Hermione. Night, Remus."

"Good night," Remus said, and listened to Arthur's weary but steady tread ascending the stairs.

Hermione sidled into the room, glancing anxiously at Remus, then blurted, "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, honestly!"

Remus cast his mind back. Had they spoken of anything sensitive that the kids ought not to know about? No, only that he'd seen Tonks and that she was feeling down. That was Remus' guilt to bear, but it wasn't confidential. "No harm done," he reassured her.

Looking grateful, Hermione slipped the rest of the way across the room, fetched a glass and filled it from the tap. Remus leaned against the worktop and observed her vaguely, his mind elsewhere.

Hermione took a sip from her glass, then glanced over at him, and Remus pulled his focus back to the present. She had the look of someone who would like to interact, but wasn't sure how best to open a conversation.

So Remus asked, "What have you been reading, that's keeping you up so late?"

Hermione held her glass upright, rolling it slightly between her palms. "Oh – some Muggle psychology books I borrowed from my parents." Always aware of her expected role as Muggle-to-wizard cultural translator, she added, "You know, the study of how people think and feel."

It took a moment for the other Knut to drop, then Remus realised: Hermione was reading up on grief, the psychology of grief, out of concern for Harry. She wanted to be prepared and supportive when he arrived at the Burrow. And, being Hermione, she'd turned to books rather than ask anyone directly, an impulse Remus understood well.

What extraordinary friends Harry had found for himself.

To fill the silence, not thinking about what he was saying, Remus said, "Sirius went through a phase of that, reading all about Muggle psychology." Then he felt the old familiar stab of pain through his chest, because for that split second he'd been able to talk about Sirius as if he were still here, and then just as quickly he'd been reminded that he wasn't.

"Did he?" Hermione asked, sounding faintly alarmed at the turn the conversation had taken.

"Oh, yes," Remus said, the memories fond even as grief throbbed in his chest. "When he was around your age, he got his hands on some old collection of Muggle psychology books and spent months annoying the rest of us by following us around and analysing our behaviour."

Hermione laughed, then looked apologetic for it. "That does…sound like Sirius," she offered tentatively.

"Quite," Remus agreed lightly, though his chest felt tight. Time to steer away from that particular subject. "Anyway. How about you, Hermione? How have the holidays been?" Being a kindly mentor figure to a student, now that was the type of human interaction Remus could engage in without entirely making a mincemeat of it.

"Quiet, mostly," Hermione said, setting her glass of water very precisely down beside her on the worktop. "I do a lot of reading when I'm home. It's…well…I'm always so happy to get back home and see my parents, but then as soon as I get there, it feels like I've left my whole life somewhere else and I'm just waiting until I can get back to it. I love my parents, but there's so much about my life they can't understand. So I was glad when Mrs Weasley invited me to stay, but then I felt guilty for wanting to leave home when I'd only just got there…" She sighed. "I shouldn't complain. Lots of people have it far worse."

"Harry's mother used to say much the same," Remus offered, leaning against the worktop behind him. "It's hard for Muggleborn kids, moving between these two cultures that have such a complete lack of understanding for one another."

Hermione smiled wistfully. "She must have been great. Harry's mum."

"She was," Remus said softly. Fierce, vivacious, brilliant Lily. Another friend he'd failed.

Hermione picked up her water glass and frowned at it. "Professor Lupin…" she began, than stopped.

"You can call me Remus, Hermione."

"Er – all right." Her eyebrows gathered sharply together on her furrowed brow, her gaze still directed at the glass in her hands. "Remus, is there – I know you can't tell me anything about what the Order is doing, and that's fine, I'm not asking you to, but is there…does the Order have a _plan_? I mean, is there some kind of plan, at all? Does any of us know what we're doing?" Her gaze darted to him, even as she bit her lip, already worried she'd asked too much.

"A plan for fighting Voldemort, you mean?" Remus asked.

Hermione nodded once, a quick motion.

Remus sighed and tried to decide how to answer. "Yes and no," he said finally. "Which is an unhelpful answer, I do realise. No, there is no schedule, no diagram to follow. War doesn't work like that. _Magic_ doesn't work like that. It would be so simple if all of life were laid out as neatly as an academic term, with the next task always clearly outlined; I've sometimes wished that. But no, there's no plan in that sense. We're all of us feeling our way through this in the dark. But at the same time – yes. I trust that Dumbledore has a vision of what we're working towards. I do trust that there's a larger aim we're following, even if the individual steps are fumbling ones. It's not easy, taking steps in the dark and hoping we've made the right choices when we can't see their outcomes yet."

"It feels like we've been in the dark for a long time, doesn't it?" Hermione said softly, and Remus looked over at her in surprise. He often forgot how wise for her years Hermione was.

"Yes," he agreed, feeling the ache of it in his chest. "A very long time." Thinking of Sirius. Of Lily and James.

 _This is why, Dora_ , he thought. _This is why you should not want to get close to me._

To Remus' surprise, Hermione blurted out the very opposite of his thoughts. "It's all the more reason we have to stick together, isn't it?" she said. "I mean, given that we can't really know if any of this is going to turn out all right. It's all the more reason to – to make each other a little happier, now, if we can."

Unexpectedly, she blushed, and Remus wondered of what – or whom – she was thinking.

"Anyway," Hermione said, still faintly pink. "Is there anything I can do? Even though I'm not in the Order?"

"Just keep watching out for Harry," Remus said, then caught himself. That was the last thing he wanted to do, burden Hermione with a sense of responsible for Harry's safety. What was he thinking, what were any of them thinking, dragging children into this war? Then again, James and Lily had been only a few years older than the girl in front of him. Tonks was only a few years older still. And none of them were safe. "We'll all be watching out for Harry," he amended. "That's the most important thing. We all need to look out for each other, more than ever."

Hermione nodded. "Yes," she said. "Yeah, we can do that. We can definitely do that." She looked heartened at the thought. She glanced down at her water glass, then up again. "I should go back upstairs. Ginny's been asleep for ages and I ought to be, too." She turned to wash her glass, then dried it and tidied it away. Then she looked at Remus and said a little shyly, "Thanks for talking. I appreciate it."

"My pleasure," Remus assured her.

"Good night," Hermione said, making her way to the door that led upstairs.

Remus watched her go, then dropped his gaze to the floor. He was startled when Hermione ducked back through the doorway.

"Remus, I…I just wanted to say – I know you were good friends with Sirius. I can't really know what it's like at all, and I hope I never have to find out, because I can't even imagine losing –" She broke off, looking stricken, and needed a moment to collect herself. Then she continued, "Anyway, I just wanted to say, I'm sorry about Sirius. I really, really am."

"Thank you, Hermione," Remus said, surprised.

Hermione nodded, looking embarrassed now, and disappeared beyond the shadows of the doorway.

– – – – –

"Tonks, dear," Molly said, pulling Tonks in the door and patting her arm repeatedly. "Oh, you look worn out. Here, sit, sit, I'll put the tea on. And you look like you could use something to eat."

Rich scents assailed Tonks' nose as she stepped over the threshold into the kitchen, and she inhaled deeply. Butter, cinnamon, cloves. Pumpkin? Just being in Molly's presence was a sensory delight. Tonks sighed aloud, and flopped into a chair.

"I'll have these pumpkin scones finished in two shakes of a niffler's tail," Molly was saying as she bustled about the kitchen. "But here, have some tea to start. Dumbledore and Harry are likely to be ages still." As she spoke, she poured with one hand, while waving her wand at the old-fashioned bake oven with the other. And Tonks sank down and breathed and let someone else do the bustling for once.

Molly's chatty note, inviting Tonks to drop by and visit while Molly waited up for Dumbledore to bring Harry, had helpfully also mentioned that Remus had left the Burrow that morning. Which was good, because Tonks wasn't sure she would be able to keep from shouting at him if she saw him.

A plate of fragrant, pumpkin-coloured scones appeared under Tonks' nose, and she blinked and pulled herself out of her exhausted daze. Molly, now sitting across the table, smiled understandingly and nudged the plate a little closer.

Tonks picked one up, bit into it and breathed, "Oh, Molly, you're a _genius_."

Molly watched with a pleased smile as Tonks inhaled the rest of her scone and contemplated seconds.

"How are you, then, dear?" Molly asked. "We've hardly seen you, except at the last Order meeting. Are you doing all right?"

"Yeah. No," Tonks said. "I don't know." She sat bolt upright, suddenly too edgy to stay comfortably slumped. "How did it _get_ like this, Molly? Voldemort and Death Eaters and Dementors, and most days all we manage to do is show up afterwards and contain the damage. Why are we so small against this terrible thing? Why can't we do more?"

"I wish we could," Molly said soberly, and Tonks felt bad for own self-pity. Molly had so much more at risk in this war. Half her family was in the Order.

But at least she _had_ her family. People around her who were also in the thick of the war and understood how hard it was.

"The worst thing," Tonks said, squashing the last few crumbs on her plate with one finger, "this sounds so stupid, but at least before I could talk to Remus about everything. But now… He's been avoiding me, Molly. Ever since – since Sirius died."

"To be fair, he's been avoiding pretty much everyone," Molly said gently.

"I know. But…he and I got close, this past year. I care about him. I thought he cared about me." Tonks' eyes burned with tiredness. She'd been working constantly and sleeping badly.

Molly smiled sympathetically. "I know, dear. I've seen the way you look at him. And the way he looks at you, for that matter."

Remus and the way he looked at her. Remus and the way he _talked_ to her, late into the night after Order meetings, sharing things Tonks knew he rarely spoke about with anyone. He'd taken her to visit Alice and Frank Longbottom at St Mungo's. He'd laughed and joked with her through long nights of Order duties. And there was the night Remus had returned to London after being attacked at a gathering of werewolves, when he'd thought _home_ as he Apparated and somehow landed on Tonks' doorstep instead of at Headquarters. All that had to mean something. It meant a great deal of somethings.

Tonks remembered standing by the kitchen fire at 12 Grimmauld Place that horrible night in June, forming their plan to storm the Ministry and find Harry. She would never forget Sirius' determination to go with them, Remus' anguish at wanting to protect Harry and wanting to protect Sirius and knowing he couldn't do both. Then Remus at her bedside, when she woke up in St Mungo's afterwards. The agony on his face when she asked, _Who's died?_

And then – that was all. Remus had withdrawn to a place inside himself where Tonks couldn't follow.

"He's going to live with a werewolf pack," she burst out. "Did he tell you that?"

"He told Arthur," Molly said, a crease of worry forming between her eyebrows. "I can't say I approve." She frowned. "Although Dumbledore will know what he's about, I expect."

Dumbledore. Just then Tonks could have screamed at the thought of him. Dumbledore and Remus, both of them so callous with Remus' safety. She would have liked to shake Remus until some sense finally fell into his stubborn head and he understood that he _mattered_. Not just as an operative for the Order, but as a person.

Tonks found herself breathing angrily through her nose, and she forced herself to slow down and cast around for something less fraught to talk about. "Did I hear Bill's girlfriend's staying here?" she blurted.

Oops. That wasn't the most tranquil of topics either.

"Fiancée," Molly corrected curtly.

"Oh, they've made it official?"

"Yes, they're very happy," Molly said, but Tonks noticed she was shredding the remainder of the scone on her plate into tiny, nearly invisible crumbs.

"Fleur's, er, she's –" What was Fleur, exactly? _Nice_ didn't really seem to fit. "She's quite something," Tonks concluded lamely.

"Yes," Molly said repressively. "She's – she's –" Tonks waited, honestly curious to hear what Molly would come up with. "She's not good enough for my little Bill!" Molly finally burst out, and Tonks felt her own mouth curving up into the unfamiliar shape of a smile, for what felt like the first time in a long time. Molly reigned herself back in and added somewhat more quietly, "He meets so many nice girls through his work. Why couldn't he have brought one of _them_ home?"

Right, Tonks thought. And why couldn't Tonks herself have fallen for a nice, uncomplicated man who didn't run away whenever emotions got involved?

Molly sighed. "I suppose I'm being unfair. I am _trying_ to be happy for them. But it's rather difficult, when she's flouncing about the house, declaring that anyone else's way of doing anything is vastly inferior to her own." Molly looked down and noticed the scone crumbs she'd ground to dust on the plate. She pushed the plate away. "Well. Harry's arriving tonight and Fleur seems to quite like him, so maybe that's one thing she won't find fault with."

As if summoned by Molly's words, three knocks sounded at the kitchen door. Molly's head jerked up and she glanced at the clock. "Who's there?" she demanded, jumping up and hurrying to the door. "Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry," came the unmistakable voice from outside.

Molly's posture relaxed and she unlatched the door, waving her wand and murmuring unlocking spells.

Dumbledore, tall-hatted and crinkly-eyed as always, stood framed in the doorway. Harry was at his side, looking, impossibly, even taller than when Tonks had seen him last. He looked tired, but somehow quietly triumphant. Whatever errand Dumbledore had taken him on had gone well, then. And it was always such a relief to see Harry in one piece.

Tonks glanced at Dumbledore, radiating as always that benign good humour and opaque omniscience, and she felt a stab of anger. _This is the man who wants to throw Remus to the wolves, literally,_ Tonks thought. _Is that how little he cares about any one of us?_

She knew that wasn't fair. It was Dumbledore's job not to care about any individual person more than he cared about the whole.

"Harry, dear," Molly was saying. "Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright. You said not to expect you before morning!"

"We were lucky," Dumbledore said, ushering Harry gently into the kitchen. "Slughorn proved more persuadable than I had expected. Harry's doing, of course." Dumbledore beamed, then looked around the room. "Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"

"Hello, Professor," Tonks said tightly. "Wotcher, Harry."

"Hi, Tonks," Harry said, and Tonks managed a bit of a smile for him.

"I'd better be off," she said, standing and reaching for her light summer cloak. She was exhausted and suddenly wanted nothing more than to be at home, alone. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly."

"Please don't leave on my account," Dumbledore protested, gracious as always. "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."

 _Of course you do, with your finger in every pie,_ Tonks thought, then tried to tamp down that resentment, because not everything was actually Dumbledore's fault. "No, no, I need to get going," she said, fumbling with the clasps of her cloak. "Night –"

"Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend?" Molly tried. "Remus and Mad-Eye are coming –?"

"No, really, Molly," Tonks interjected, in a hurry to head that particular idea off at the pass. Yes, she'd just been admitting to Molly how much she missed Remus. But an evening of both of them awkwardly trying to act normal in front of their friends? That sounded like no fun for anyone. She threw her cloak hastily around her shoulders. "Thanks anyway, good night, everyone…"

With another nod to Molly and a smile at Harry, Tonks hurried out the door and to the edge of the garden where the Burrow's magical protections ended, to Apparate home to her flat.

– – – – –

Remus closed the door of 12 Grimmauld Place behind himself and breathed in the stale air. This was the place where Sirius had spent the last, bitter year of his life, still not free even after Azkaban.

Remus swallowed savagely against the lump that rose in his throat. Being here again didn't have to be terrible unless he made it so.

" _Lumos_ ," he murmured, holding his wand aloft, and set his rucksack down inside the front door. He'd packed and left the Burrow that morning, shrinking his few possessions down to a size that could be carried on his back.

He'd been prepared to walk all day and night if necessary, waiting for Dumbledore to send word that the Black house either was or wasn't safe to enter. But the headmaster's Patronus had found him sooner than he'd expected, as Remus was walking along Regent's Canal in the dark, beneath the draping branches of a weeping willow. Regent's Canal, where Tonks had taken him on their first evening out together, at a time when good things had still seemed within reach.

Slowly, Remus made his way deeper into the house, along the gloomy, threadbare hallway, past the curtain that hid the foul-mouthed portrait of Sirius' mother. Past the dining room doorway that gaped dark and empty. He didn't light any of the lamps that lined the hall; it seemed unnecessary when it was only him here.

Remus climbed the creaking stairs, past the grim elf heads mounted on the wall. He took the floors one by one and peered into the rooms to ascertain that all was in order. Dust had settled over everything, and he would need to check every inch of the place to be sure the protective spells still held. But otherwise all was as they had left it that night, in their dash to the Ministry to find Harry.

Remus descended again, this time all the way to the basement kitchen. He could feel the chill that emanated from the old stone walls as he looked around the cavernous room, lit only by the light from his wand. Snape had appeared there in the fireplace, with the news that Harry and his friends had disappeared from school. Sirius had paced here, fists clenched, frantic with worry.

This time last year, this house had been full of voices and laughter, as Molly and her army of helpers had waged their war against the old house's ghouls and gremlins to make the place habitable for the Order. This time last year, Tonks had tripped into Remus' life, laughing and bright and forever curious, a burst of colour in the dark house. Remus remembered the very first night the two of them had sat here in the kitchen late into the evening after an Order meeting, swapping stories over butterbeer.

Remus remembered, too, the way Sirius had so often lurked in the kitchen doorway, observing whatever conversation was taking place inside the room instead of joining it, as if he imagined himself already halfway gone.

Remus let his wand arm fall to his side, covered his face with the other arm and forced himself to breathe slowly. He was here on behalf of the Order. He had to get through it for the sake of the Order.

Dropping his arm from his face with determination, Remus strode to the cupboard and fetched a broom. He set his wand, still casting its gentle light, on the table in the centre of the room, and began to sweep away the dust from the kitchen floor.

– – – – –

It was absurd, Tonks thought, that at a time when Remus was barely talking to her, she still reached every morning to put on the locket he had given her. The delicate golden locket that had belonged to Remus' mother.

Awake, Tonks remembered all too well the things Remus had said – that he was going wilfully into danger, that he wanted her to forget him. But in the first half-awake moments of her day, her hand reached out instinctively for the little locket that lay on the table beside her bed.

After a few increasingly aggravating days of this – wake, reach for the locket, get heartbroken and angry all over again at the sight of it – Tonks Apparated unannounced to Grimmauld Place. She stood and glared at the ugly knocker of the stupid front door of that hateful house. The house where Sirius had lived trapped. The house where Remus had now exiled himself away in solitude, until it was time to leave for the werewolf pack.

"Why am I wearing this?" Tonks demanded, when Remus opened the door to her knock. His face wiped politely blank when he saw that it was her, and that _hurt_. Tonks thrust her hand, cradling the golden locket that dangled from her neck, into the space between them in the open doorway. A ray of light from between the clouds glinted from its surface. "This is your mother's locket _,_ Remus, so why am I wearing it?"

Remus had frozen at the sight of her, his hand still resting on the doorknob. Now he blinked and let Tonks inside, closing the door behind her.

With trembling hands, Tonks reached to the nape of her neck and fumbled the clasp open. She caught the locket, warm and smooth as always, in her palm, and held it out to him.

"This is yours, not mine," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, and not to let him hear how her voice broke over those words.

His extended arm dropping tightly to his side and his lips barely moving, Remus said, "It was a gift, Dora. You needn't give it back."

Remus was grieving, Remus was grieving, she'd told it to herself over and over as a reminder to forgive him when he said or did things that were hurtful. But Tonks was grieving, too, and the hurtful things…hurt.

"Why?" she demanded, stepping closer, her hand still outstretched. "If you're so insistent that I don't matter to you anymore, and you shouldn't matter to me, then _why am I wearing your mother's locket_?"

Remus' hands clenched tighter at his sides. "It's a gift," he repeated. "The circumstances may have changed, but the nature of the gift remains. I couldn't possibly take it back. It's yours."

"Remus, I don't –"

"It's yours," he repeated. "You may do with it as you like, but please don't ask me to be so ungenerous as to rescind a gift." Merlin, his face was cold. But his eyes – Remus could never hide the emotion in his eyes.

Tonks' hand dropped to her side. No matter what else Remus might be feeling, she could see he meant it about this.

"Fine," she growled. "But I don't like it, Remus, and I don't like the way you're shutting me out. And by the way, being all polite about it doesn't make it better, it makes it _worse_."

She gave him a final glare, then spun and yanked open the door. She flung herself through it and pounded down the steps to the square, Remus' mother's locket still a warm, small weight in her hand.

– – – – –

Remus watched as Molly settled an enormous slice of birthday cake onto Harry's plate, and Harry grinned and thanked her.

But even here, in the warmth of the Burrow on the happy occasion of Harry's birthday, the flood of bad news intruded, with news of more deaths and disappearances – Karkaroff, Fortescue, Ollivander.

Molly clearly wished they would change the subject, so Remus hurriedly asked Ron what he expected of the upcoming school year's Quidditch season. Harry had James' mad passion for the sport, as did Ron. And although he himself had never become more than an indifferent player, Remus was well versed in the art of discussing Quidditch with Quidditch-mad boys.

"Well, we haven't heard yet who's going to be the new captain, now that Angelina's finished school," Ron said, with a sidelong look at Harry that Harry didn't seem to notice.

"And I'm banned for life," Harry put in glumly, his fork pausing in mid-air.

"Except you're _not_ , because that was only under Umbridge, and Umbridge is gone," Ginny shot at him from across the table, clearly a conversation they'd had before.

Then Hermione retorted, and Ron weighed in, and Ginny waved her fork around to punctuate a point, which made Harry laugh. Arthur cast a smile Remus' way. War talk successfully diverted, for one evening at least.

This was what Remus would be leaving behind when he departed for the werewolf pack, this warmth and bright comfort amongst a circle of friends. It was easy to forget, toiling away alone in the grim confines of Headquarters, that he had all this, good people he cared about close at hand. Too soon, that would no longer be true.

Harry laughing, surrounded by friends: that was an image Remus held close to him two short weeks later, when he closed the door of 12 Grimmauld Place behind himself for the last time. He'd left affairs at Headquarters in Moody's capable hands, and packed the few possessions he would need in his rucksack.

He Apparated first to the Burrow, to say his goodbyes to Molly and Arthur. Their eyes were bright with worry, Molly biting her lip against telling him not to go. And before he left, Remus borrowed the Weasleys' owl, because there was one more person from whom he needed to take his leave.

He didn't trust himself to say goodbye to Tonks in person and face her justified anger, didn't trust himself to stick to his plan if she asked him again not to go. So instead he wrote, choosing the words precisely and painfully, and sent off the note by owl.

Then Remus walked out into the cool night air and stepped beyond the house's protections. When he looked back, Arthur and Molly stood framed in the doorway, leaning against each other. Remus raised one hand in farewell, hefted his rucksack, then closed his eyes and Apparated north.


	3. To the Wolves

 

_Give me all your lonely nights  
I'll keep them here with mine_

_–_ _Lucy Kaplansky, Promise Me_

 

Even with the longer daylight hours of the Scottish summer, it was well past nightfall when Remus opened his eyes at the edge of a tiny village, the last landmark to which he could Apparate accurately. He would cover the small remaining distance on foot.

It might sound foolhardy to approach the pack at night – and here Remus had been vague to Molly and Arthur concerning his precise plans– but night was a werewolf's element. Night protected and concealed.

Remus glanced up. The moon, half-hidden by scudding clouds, was nearly full. This could be the best time to befriend unfamiliar werewolves, or he might find them edgy and combative. There was no way to know until he tried.

He left the sleeping village behind him, stopping to hide his wand and his few other possessions under a rock beside the path that wound out of the village and into the open moorland. Remus could scent the presence of werewolves already. Sometimes it astounded him that Muggles could remain so blissfully ignorant of such things. Lucky indeed for the residents of this village that their local werewolves were not known for bloodlust.

The legends about heightened werewolf senses, as much as they tended to be exaggerated, did have some basis in fact. Especially this close to the full moon, Remus had no trouble scenting out his own kind, an earthy, animal smell that nonetheless carried with it the clean scent of pine trees and night air.

He followed a faint track, barely visible, that branched off from the main path. A quarter hour's walk out from the village, the light of the moon revealed a small stand of trees, evergreens whose angular shapes stood out starkly against the rolling contours of the moor.

Even at this distance, Remus felt his skin prickle. Werewolves might not use wands, but they had their own powerful magic. If a werewolf marked a piece of territory and didn't want humans to find it, well, then humans wouldn't.

Remus stopped short of the trees and allowed himself a few deep breaths before he continued. Then he made his way between the tree trunks, and stepped into a clearing at their centre.

By the light of the moon, Remus saw that there were a number of small makeshift shelters within the clearing, branches and tarpaulins cobbled together under the trees. He could just make out the forms of the people sleeping under them.

There was also a man, seated on a tree stump in the middle of the clearing, precisely at the spot where a shaft of moonlight cut through the trees to illuminate his face. He was broad-shouldered, with tanned skin and a full head of dark hair, and he sat tall and straight on the stump that was his throne, conveying an impression of great, still, solid strength. He was looking at Remus.

"Stranger," the man said. It was neither welcome nor dismissal, simply an acknowledgement of Remus' presence. This was the Alpha of the pack.

"Alpha," Remus responded.

Something about the man's mouth twitched – it might almost have been a smile.

"I come in peace," Remus continued, offering the sight of his outstretched, empty hands.

"Well, I know _that_ ," said the man.

Remus realised all at once that the others in the clearing were by no means asleep. All of them were listening, alert and only feigning sleep. Ruefully, Remus wondered just how far off they had sensed him coming.

Now, the Alpha rose and approached Remus. Remus stood still, but bowed his head in deference as the man grew close.

" _Interesting_ ," the Alpha said, circling slowly around Remus. His gaze was sharp, his eyes wise in a commanding face. "You are a werewolf, but a city-dwelling one. Yet you understand how it is in a pack." Then, before he had quite completed his circle, the Alpha stopped short. "I know you," he said, very close to Remus' face.

There was a shifting around them, the shadows and crannies now soft with subtle movements. No one was pretending to sleep any longer.

"You were at the Imbolc gathering this year, in France. You came from nowhere, attached to no pack. Some of the others thought you were a spy and attacked you. That was you."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Remus said, head still bowed. "That was I."

Someone hissed in the darkness.

"And are you here to spy now, City Wolf?" the Alpha asked.

"No, Alpha, I am not," Remus said, grateful to be able to speak this as the truth.

The Alpha began again to circle him. "What, then? What brings a city wolf to the wilderness? What brings a wolf who thinks he's a wizard back to live among wolves?"

"I want to learn from you," Remus said, head conscientiously bowed. "When you saw me in France at Imbolc, I still hoped I could be privy to your thoughts without being one of your number. If that's what it means to be a spy, then that's what I was. Now I wish to live here and learn as one of your pack."

"Learning, spying," the Alpha mused. "What is the difference, I wonder?"

Unsure if this question was directed at him or rhetorical, Remus said softly, "I'm not looking to reveal anyone's secrets. I simply seek to understand."

"But there are others where you come from, city wizards, who would be interested to know what you 'learn'."

"Yes, Alpha, perhaps. But I've made my own choice, to leave them and come here."

"Do you work with Voldemort?" the Alpha asked, so casually that Remus nearly stumbled backwards in surprise.

"Merlin, no!" Remus exclaimed, before he could think better of it. "Never Voldemort."

Somewhere in the shadows of the clearing, someone tittered.

"We don't swear by Merlin here, City Wolf," the Alpha said, his tone almost gentle. "We swear by the Mother, or by the Moon."

"By the Mother, then," Remus agreed. He should have remembered that. "I swear I do not work for Voldemort."

"Good. We want no rabble-rousers here."

"I have no love for Voldemort," Remus said firmly.

That earned him a sharp look from the Alpha. "We want no rabble-rousers on _either_ side. We are peace-loving beings, whatever your friends in the city might believe. We have no interest in agitators and recruiters. Is that clear?"

"It's clear, Alpha."

"You may stay and live among us, if you wish. You may 'learn,' if you wish. But you will not turn our young ones' ears to talk of war."

"Yes, Alpha. Thank you, Alpha."

"And when you join the pack, you follow our rules. Not those of the city."

"Yes, Alpha."

"Sit," the man said, abruptly, and Remus found himself dropping down to crouch on his heels before he'd consciously decided to do so. There was a reason this man was the Alpha.

"You may think you can come here, gather what you want to know and leave unchanged, but the simple fact of living among us will change you," the Alpha continued. "Are you prepared for that, City Wolf?"

"I'm aware and have made my choice."

"Hmm," the man said, a drawn-out sound that gave no hint what he was thinking. Remus waited, deferential and bowed.

Then the Alpha laughed. He tipped his face towards the sky. "So be it! Let night be day and sun be moon, let the wizard-wolf come to the moor. So it shall be." He lowered his head and gazed around at the rest of the pack, still hidden in the shadows around them. "Come," he said. "You may greet our visitor."

The shadows dissolved into human shapes as the members of the pack stepped forward.

– – – – –

Hearing a tap at her kitchen window, Tonks wasn't surprised to look up and see Cessna, the Weasleys' newer, sprightlier owl, purchased after Arthur's promotion. (And named, of course, by Arthur.) Likely the owl brought another dinner invitation from Molly.

Tonks was _not_ expecting to let Cessna in the window, unroll the letter he carried and find herself confronted instead with Remus' handwriting:

 _Dear Dora_ ,

_I feel badly about the way things have ended between us. I haven't handled this well, and I'm sorry. But I believe it to be the only option. I wish you all the best. Please – take care of yourself and keep safe._

_Yours,_

_Remus_

Tonks sat down hard on a chair, and pushed a dish of water distractedly at Cessna. She re-read the note and felt the tickling sensation of her hair turning red in anger, starting from the nape of her neck and working upwards. Her Metamorphmagism hadn't kicked in spontaneously like that in years. Lately could barely transform her appearance even when she _was_ trying.

Oh, so he felt "badly" about cutting her out of his life, did he? Tonks had half a mind to cast an "Incendio" on the note and revel in watching it burn. Or flip the parchment to its reverse side and scrawl a vindictive reply, telling Remus exactly where he could shove his polite apologies.

But Tonks was an Auror, and she knew better than to act in anger. She took a few deep breaths – recommended technique for Aurors before taking any decisive action – and recalled that it was nearly the full moon – if Remus had written her, it was because he was already on his way to join the werewolves. No owl would reach him now, where he was beyond any permanent address and within the bounds of the werewolves' own protective magic. Sending a Patronus might be possible, but that would draw attention, and thus danger, to Remus.

He had gone where none of them could reach him.

Tonks' anger dissolved. She didn't know the Scottish moors and she certainly didn't know the habits of werewolves, not wild ones. She couldn't picture what Remus' life would be like there, couldn't know what danger he might be in. All she knew, really, was that werewolves were hierarchical and territorial, often savage to outsiders, and celebrated the full moon instead of fearing it. Also, she remembered too well that Remus had once come home to her with lacerations, bruises and cracked ribs, because werewolves at a gathering he'd visited had scented him out as a spy.

In comparison to Remus risking his life for the Order, getting angry over a letter was petty.

"There's no reply to deliver," she told Cessna, who cocked his head at her. "Go on home."

The owl gave what could only be described as the owl equivalent of a shrug, then spread his wings and glided out the open window. Tonks gazed after him, trying in vain to hold onto her earlier anger, because the alternative to anger was worry, endless worry about where Remus might be now.

Tonks tossed and turned that night, too restless for sleep at the thought of Remus out somewhere on the moors. So the next morning, when she went to send a routine message to Moody and her Patronus came out a completely different shape, Tonks figured it must be sleep deprivation. Or something. Because what came out of her wand when she cast the charm wasn't her beloved, playful dolphin. In fact, it looked an awful lot like a bloody great _wolf_.

 _Well, I can't send THAT to Moody_ , she thought.

She tried the charm again, casting back for a happy memory that absolutely didn't involve Remus at all, so that the thought of him couldn't possibly affect the way the Patronus came out. The day she'd got her acceptance letter to the Auror training programme, there, that would do it. Few things in her life had thrilled her more, and the memory dated from well before she'd met Remus.

Tonks closed her eyes and cried, "Expecto Patronum!" And opened her eyes to the silvery shape of a great, shaggy, yet somehow endearing…wolf.

"Damn it all to Avalon," she muttered.

She relayed her message to Moody anyway, starting with an apology for her Patronus' irritating new form, then tried to push the matter out of her mind as she got ready for work, already running late.

The moment Tonks set foot in the Auror Office, Robards looked up from his corner office and beckoned her over.

"Auror Tonks," Robards said when she reached his office. "Have a seat."

She did so.

"I'd like to offer you a special assignment," he said, fixing her with a stern stare. This could turn out to be a thrilling new placement or relegation to a task no one else wanted, Tonks couldn't tell. She hadn't learned to read Robards yet, not like she'd been able to do with Scrimgeour.

"Yes, sir?" she said.

"I need Aurors stationed in Hogsmeade. Full-time, you understand – we'll set you up with a flat there, so you can live on location. You'd be there to keep an eye on the village and the school, that sort of thing. Keep up morale, watch for any signs of Dark magic."

In all the rest of the mess of her life, Tonks had forgotten Dumbledore's request at that Order meeting weeks ago, but now his words floated back to her. _There's a possibility that a few select Aurors will be asked to take up a position elsewhere… Might I ask if you would be amenable?_

This must be what Dumbledore had been talking about – he wanted one Auror in Hogsmeade he knew could count on.

"Yes, sir," Tonks said to Robards. "I'll go."

He blinked. "You will?"

"I'd be glad to. I enjoy fieldwork. When do we start?"

Robards' eyebrows rose – he probably hadn't expected his pitch to go over so easily – but he rallied quickly. "Very good. That's you and Savage, then, Proudfoot's going to think about it, and I'm having a chat with Dawlish next. You'll head up a week before the Hogwarts term starts, get yourselves set up, and be there to meet the students off the Hogwarts Express."

Tonks did the mental calculation. "You want us to move…next week?"

"Yes," Robards said. "Is there a problem?"

"No sir, no problem."

As Tonks made her way back to her own desk, she was already drafting a mental list of everything that needed to be done in order to move house in less than a week.

– – – – –

"They're sending you _where_?" Tonks' friend Ariadne demanded, her hand pausing halfway between two racks of Madam Malkin's Self-Ironing Daily Wear Robes.

"Hogsmeade," Tonks repeated. "Come on, it's not like it's the far end of the Earth. And hello, we're witches. We can still visit each other any time, just by closing our eyes and wanting to."

Ariadne snorted. She was Tonks' best friend from Hogwarts, though they no longer saw each other very often, not since Tonks had signed over her life to an Auror's erratic working hours, then added responsibilities for the Order of the Phoenix on top of that. Still, Ariadne was one of her anchors, someone who existed in the real world outside the Order. Tonks had asked her along as she did some last-minute Diagon Alley shopping before moving house to Hogsmeade.

"Right, like you'll ever have time to Apparate down for a visit, with the hours you work," Ariadne said. She frowned at the amber-coloured semi-formal robes on which her hand had come to rest, then pushed them aside. "And your boss gave you only a week's notice, to pack everything up and go?"

"Ar, that's what we _do_. We have to go where we're needed, and right now the Ministry needs a presence in Hogsmeade."

Tonks, too, frowned at the robes in front of her, a set of formalwear in a revolting cooked-asparagus shade. Normally, she would be doing her usual Diagon Alley rounds – perusing the eclectic T-shirt collection crammed into the basement room of Warbler's Wizard Rock Shop, or foraging for strange sartorial treasures at The Sorcerer's Second Hand – but this time she'd bowed to Ariadne's unfortunate but sensible suggestion that she should probably get some professional robes, if the whole point of her new posting was to be the serious, trustworthy face of the Auror Office in Hogsmeade.

Being an adult was so dull sometimes.

"So you'll be staying the whole year, then?" Ariadne asked, not very casually.

"I don't know exactly. As long as I'm needed." Tonks pushed the awful asparagus robes away.

"It doesn't seem right," Ariadne murmured, her hands flicking deftly through the rows of clothing. "They're always throwing you in the path of danger." She glanced up and looked straight at Tonks across the tumult of colourful fabric between them. "But then, that's where you like to be, isn't it?"

Tonks blew out a frustrated puff of air. "That's not fair. It's not that I want danger. I just want to _do_ something. I need to do something. I can't sit on my hands when there's a war on!"

Ariadne winced and returned her attention to the row of robes between them, and Tonks regretted her choice of words. Ariadne was fun and clever and sweet and one of Tonks' favourite people in the world, but she wasn't exactly the throw-yourself-into-the-fray type. Not the way Tonks was. And Tonks sometimes caught a hint of wistfulness there, like Ariadne wished she too were doing something dangerous but momentous, instead of quietly repairing old books at the Magical Archives every day.

"Look," Tonks said, because they'd been having this same discussion for years, she and Ariadne. Since the day Tonks declared her intention to apply for the Auror training programme, if not before. "We all do what we can do, in whatever way we can do. And for me, I don't know, I _have_ to be out there trying to do something. There's – oh, there's so much more happening than what makes it into the Daily Prophet." Tonks instinctively lowered her voice, although they were the only customers in this particular wing of Madam Malkin's labyrinthine shop. But these days, even casual conversation was dangerous. "People are disappearing all the time, the Dementors are breeding like mad, Death Eaters keep making stealth attacks and then getting away before we can get there –"

She made herself stop. Ariadne knew all this already. No need to belabour the point of how different their two lives were.

"I have to try to help," Tonks concluded lamely. "I can't not try."

Ariadne met her eyes across the clothing racks, pensive. "I worry about you."

"I know," Tonks said. Then she added, "I'm sorry."

Ariadne smiled wryly. "You're you. I know that." Suddenly, magically, her deft hands plucked one set of robes from all the rest and held them aloft for Tonks' inspection. Deep magenta, a demure cut such as an Auror could wear on assignment in a small town, but a colour that was fun enough that Nymphadora Tonks wouldn't die of boredom when she caught sight of herself in a mirror.

"Yes," Tonks said. "Yes, perfect, I'll take those, and now please can we get out of this stuffy shop and go look at brooms?"

"Flourish and Blotts," Ariadne counter-proposed. "And the stationery shop; I need some Permanent Preservation Spellotape."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Of course you do. Okay, we can be boring in a paper shop if we also drop by Warbler's after."

"And the Apothecary?" Ariadne suggested. "Tell me you're at least going to make sure you've got all your healing potions and things fully stocked before you go."

Tonks nodded. "And that weird sweets shop round the back of the Muggle newsagent in the next street over, where they give out the revolting free samples?"

Ariadne laughed. "Oh, yes." They'd been daring each other to try horrible things at that shop for years.

Tonks smiled, though she could feel the smile turning bittersweet. She would miss this, having a friend nearby to drag her out of herself when work overwhelmed her. Hogsmeade was a blank slate; Tonks couldn't picture what her life would be like there.

But Tonks banished those thoughts for now, in favour of enjoying this afternoon together. "Yeah," she said. "That means we've got, what, half a dozen shops to go? So let's get cracking!"

Ariadne draped the magenta robes neatly over her arm, and Tonks followed her out through the labyrinth of Madam Malkin's.

– – – – –

"It's for the best, don't you think?" Andromeda asked, her arms thrust to the elbows in a crate of dishes on the kitchen floor of Tonks' flat.

Tonks made herself count to ten. Her mother had been coming by each evening to help Tonks pack for moving house to Hogsmeade. And Tonks was grateful, she was. Her mother was adept at household-y spells, zipping things into neatly sorted crates with the merest flick of her wand. But she was also getting enormously on Tonks' nerves.

"What's for the best?" Tonks asked, though her better judgement said to let the comment slide.

Andromeda shuffled the plates inside the crate into a more perfect stack, then Conjured soft swaths of squashy padding around them. "Moving house, a fresh start in a new place. I've never understood why you felt you had to live in London, and don't tell me it's because you work at the Ministry. You're perfectly capable of Apparition."

Like they hadn't had this conversation a thousand times before. "I _like_ London, Mum."

"Well, in any case, it's good to make a clean start. Put all of this behind you."

Tonks put her hands on her hips, feeling the tingle of anger starting to burn at the nape of her neck. "And by 'all of this,' of course you mean Remus."

"Darling, I'm sorry this has been a hard time for you, truly, but don't you think this will turn out to have been for the best?"

"Remus breaking up with me?" Tonks demanded, taking the packed crate from her mother with more force than necessary and shoving it over to join the other crates by the door. "That's your idea of 'the best'?"

Andromeda sighed even as she glanced around the room, looking for the next thing in need of packing. "Remus is a very nice man. I like him, I do. But is that what you would have wanted for the rest of your life?"

" _That_ being what, that he's a werewolf? Or that he hasn't got much money?"

Tonks glowered at her mother, but Andromeda could match her look for look.

"Don't put words in my mouth, Nymphadora. I said neither of those things. I have no objections to Remus himself. But his life hasn't been an easy one, which means a life with him wouldn't be easy for you, either. I would hate to see you shouldering his burdens. You take on enough without that."

Through gritted teeth, Tonks said, "Don't talk about Remus like he's some mistake I'm lucky to have left behind."

"I didn't say Remus was a mistake," Andromeda snapped. "I said life with him would be difficult. And you are being wilfully obtuse."

"You don't understand –"

"For Merlin's sake, Nymphadora, I only want you to be happy."

Tonks bit hard against her lip, and did not shout at her mother. Instead she said, "Yeah, okay, input duly noted. I'm gonna start packing the bedroom."

All in all, Tonks wasn't sorry it would soon be time to leave London.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imbolc is a Celtic/Gaelic/Pagan seasonal festival halfway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox (at the very beginning of February); if you divide the year in half by the winter and summer solstices, then in quarters by the solstices + equinoxes, you can further subdivide it into eight with the seasonal festivals Imbolc (Candlemas/Groundhog Day), Beltane (May Day), Lughnasa, and Samhain (Halloween).
> 
> ALSO!
> 
> If you're a fan of Remus/Tonks, you should definitely come check out the current fic fest taking place at the "[rt_morelove](http://rt-morelove.livejournal.com/)" comm on Livejournal... It's a totally laidback yearly event for new fic and art celebrating Remus and Tonks, and it's always great to see new folks there! Come pick a prompt and write a story (posting is open until January 6) or just come read and enjoy. I've written one short fic there so far (a Teddy-centric fic!) and hope to write more if time allows.


	4. Origin Stories

 

_Though he binds his wounds in silence_  
 _I my own in practiced patience, lest he know_  
 _It’s always winter when he goes_  
  
_–Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer, Winter When He Goes_  


  
Hogsmeade looked so different to the village of Tonks’ teenage memories. The worst danger anyone had faced here back then was the possibility of a teacher catching them snogging their date at a Hogsmeade weekend, or Filch thwarting their attempts to smuggle the latest Zonko’s craze into the school.  
  
Now, Hogsmeade was sad-looking and shuttered, like Diagon Alley. An air of suspicion hung in the air like a silent, noxious cloud.  
  
The other three Aurors also now stationed in Hogsmeade – Proudfoot, Savage and Dawlish – were all men at least two decades Tonks’ senior, though she was used to that aspect of Auror-hood by now. Dawlish and Savage had got a flatshare in the village, since they both had families they would commute back to when off duty, but Tonks had insisted on finding a place of her own, a tiny flat above the Hogsmeade branch of Twilfit and Tattings.  
  
It was no more than a single, small room with a miniscule kitchenette, but it would do for a single person who would spend much of her time working, anyway. And it was cosy up there under the eaves. When it rained, as it did all that first week, Tonks curled up under her favourite quilt, closed her eyes and listened to the steady thrum of it against the roof.  
  
Maybe her mother wasn’t entirely wrong. Maybe it was good to get away from old familiar places where everything was tangled up with grief, and loss, and Remus.  
  
Remus.  
  
_Sirius_.  
  
Tonks closed her eyes and listened to the rain, trying hard not to think or remember.  
  
Their first assignment was to check every inch of the security spells and jinxes that protected Hogwarts. Tonks, Proudfoot and Savage walked to the school together; Dawlish didn’t join them, because he was sleeping before taking a night shift on duty in the village.  
  
Proudfoot and Savage traded jokes as they walked, but Tonks stayed quiet. She respected the others, who were good Aurors, but she had so little in common with them. Proudfoot, Savage and Dawlish were all utterly by-the-book, unable to see that what the rules said and what was right were not always the same thing. Not people Tonks would be recruiting to the Order of the Phoenix any time soon, much as she respected them professionally.  
  
Dumbledore met them at the school gates, smiling and twinkling in the sunlight that had finally broken through all the rain, and Tonks felt a jolting aftershock of the anger she’d felt the last time she saw him. Dumbledore, who’d sent Remus off on a dangerous, uncertain mission to the werewolves.  
  
But she couldn’t give way to feelings right now. She had a job to do.  
  
“Aurors Tonks, Proudfoot and Savage,” Dumbledore said, inclining his head politely. “I take it you are here because Rufus Scrimgeour doesn’t trust my staff’s ability to place adequate protections on our own school.”  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Tonks saw Savage’s chest swell indignantly, and she figured she had about five seconds before he began to bluster. Savage was not the most politic of men.  
  
“With all due respect, sir,” Tonks began, stepping forward slightly so she blocked Savage from Dumbledore just a bit. “This is just to make sure we’re all on the same page. Our duties are in Hogsmeade, but it would help if we could be conversant with Hogwarts’ protections as well, if you’re amenable. We all want to provide the best possible security for the students.”  
  
Dumbledore flashed her the tiniest of smiles, as if she’d passed a test she hadn’t known she’d been set. “Very well,” he said, appearing to think it over. “I’ll show you around the grounds.”  
  
Behind her, Tonks could practically feel Savage and Proudfoot sharing a look of surprise. They’d clearly expected more resistance.  
  
But Dumbledore gave them a very thorough tour of the protective spells, anti-intruder jinxes and other precautions he and the rest of the Hogwarts staff had placed on the school over the summer. Even Savage seemed impressed.  
  
“Knows what he’s doing, Dumbledore, doesn’t he,” Proudfoot reflected, when they were on their way back to Hogsmeade.  
  
“He’s not called the most brilliant wizard in modern history for nothing,” Savage agreed.  
  
“Still, Scrimgeour’s right to want to keep an eye on him,” Proudfoot said. “No one should be operating outside of Ministry-sanctioned systems. Not even Dumbledore.”  
  
Savage chuckled. “Old man seems to have a soft spot for you, though, Tonks.”  
  
Tonks’ head snapped up. “What?” No, it would definitely not be good if they thought she had any connection to Dumbledore beyond that of former student. For the sake of the Order, she needed to remain an utterly unremarkable Auror in the eyes of her colleagues.  
  
“Oh, come on, you saw how he melted when it was you talking to him.”  
  
“It’s true,” Proudfoot agreed, chuckling. “We should make you our liaison whenever we have to talk to the old man. Might actually get him to work with us instead of against us, that way.”  
  
And it all clicked into place.  
  
Dumbledore’s frustration with Scrimgeour wasn’t feigned, but his reluctance to work with the Aurors was, at least partly. He’d _wanted_ the other Aurors to think he was going to be difficult to work with, but that he was slightly more willing to interact with Tonks than with the rest of them. Which provided her with the perfect cover if she ever needed to go up to the castle to talk to him about Order business.  
  
Merlin. Dumbledore was always five steps ahead of everyone else.  
  
For the sake of keeping up the pretence, Tonks scoffed, “Oh, come on. Just ‘cause I was polite at him and he was polite back?”  
  
“Think whatever you want,” Savage smirked. “But I think it’ll be wee Tonks we toss to the dragon whenever he needs a sacrifice.”  
  
“We’ll see about that,” Tonks groused, and was secretly pleased.  
  
They arrived back at their de facto headquarters – the kitchen of the flat Savage and Dawlish shared – to find that a new sheaf of instructions had arrived from Robards by owl.  
  
Proudfoot rolled his eyes and Savage muttered, “Bloody micromanager,” under his breath. Robards, to put it mildly, had not yet settled into his position enough to trust his staff to do their jobs without being instructed at every step along the way. Tonks was glad to be able to duck back out, since she needed to get to sleep early before her morning shift.  
  
But when she curled up under her quilt, sleep stayed stubbornly away.  
  
She’d been running on adrenalin for so many weeks now, first catching up on work after she got out of St Mungo’s, then moving house. Now that she was finally settled in one place, Tonks could slow down enough to let her thoughts catch up with the rest of her.  
  
Frankly, she would have preferred if her thoughts had stayed away.  
  
Thoughts of Sirius were accompanied by a painful twisting in her gut. As much as she hated that he was dead, she might hate even more that he’d spent the whole last year of his life trapped somewhere he hated. Tonks viscerally remembered Sirius skulking around 12 Grimmauld Place, his eyes dark, his shoulders hunched and angry. She pulled the quilt more tightly around her chin, but her stomach refused to unclench.  
  
As rain pattered against the roof yet again, Tonks tried instead to picture Sirius as he had been at the Ministry that last night, thrumming with energy, exultant to be in battle at last, to be fighting for Harry. He’d been happy, that night, she was sure of it. He’d felt alive.  
  
One night out of a whole year. It didn’t exactly make her heart hurt less.  
  
Tonks flopped onto her back and exhaled in frustration. Sleep was miles away. _What would Sirius say if he were here right now?_ she asked herself.  
  
She snorted. He’d tell her to stop moping over him, probably. Then he would tease her about being out here in Hogsmeade, on a supposedly Very Important mission that so far had amounted to a lot of dull hanging around, endlessly patrolling up and down the same streets. Nymphadora Tonks, Auror, now glorified babysitter to a sleepy village. Sirius would have a laugh about that, surely.  
  
_And then,_ Tonks thought, _we’d have a good moan together about how impossible Remus is._ She managed to smile a little at that thought.  
  
Then she was picturing Sirius as he’d been in the Magic Room at the Department of Mysteries that night, soft light pulsing from his raised wand arm. The image was comforting, and Tonks slid deeper under the covers. She closed her eyes and willed that image to stay: Sirius, strong, beautiful and assured.  
  
_I wonder if the Department of Mysteries has a Love Room_ , she thought hazily. _Now there’s a research subject that could keep the Unspeakables busy forever._  
  
Close to the oblivion of sleep now, no longer able to control the direction in which her mind wandered, Tonks’ last conscious thought was, _And Remus? Where is he now?_  
  
– – – – –  
  
To say the pack were slow to take to Remus would be an understatement.  
  
No one was outright aggressive towards him, of course, not when their Alpha had declared Remus a guest of the pack. But their wariness bordered on hostility.  
  
“You?” demanded young Ronan, who couldn’t have been more than 20. He had the gawky look of a teenager who had suddenly shot up to his full height and was not yet accustomed to his newly long limbs. His messy brown hair only added to the impression of ungainly adolescence. “You won’t last a week out here.”  
  
Remus had been paired with him for the task of gathering firewood, and Ronan wasn’t happy about it.  
  
“You’ve been among _them_ too long,” he went on. “You even dress like them. You look like…like…a _teacher_ or something.”  
  
“I was a teacher,” Remus replied mildly, shifting the load of branches in his arms as he kept pace with Ronan. His back ached, but he wasn’t about to share that fact, not to this young man who was already convinced Remus was a soft city weakling.  
  
Already Remus was learning a great deal about the daily life of a werewolf pack. Nearly all their time was taken up with maintaining the pack’s existence. Scouting for food, scouting for danger, scouting for materials to maintain their makeshift shelters – these activities filled the day. The work of survival never ended.  
  
“Keep up,” Ronan grumbled, then glanced around, because they were nearly back to the camp in the little clearing and he could get in trouble if the Alpha heard him speaking rudely to his elder. Even if that elder was a city-raised interloper in a suspiciously teacher-like jumper.  
  
They reached the camp to find the wizened old woman called Anna seated on the tree stump in the middle of the clearing.  
  
She was by far the oldest member of the pack, stooped and tiny, with pale skin, fluffy white hair like a dandelion clock and soft, wizened cheeks. She was either the Alpha’s own birthmother, or possibly just the woman who had raised him since he became a werewolf. Remus knew better than to pry into a werewolf’s personal history. In any case, she was referred to by all simply as “Mother.”  
  
Remus had never before met a werewolf of such advanced age. Anna likely wasn’t as old as she looked, perhaps not yet even 70, but nature wasn’t gentle to their kind, and to meet an elderly werewolf was rare. The pack were fiercely protective of her, and Remus was curious to see how they would see to her safety at the coming full moon, since surely even as a wolf Anna was too old to run or defend herself.  
  
Ronan set his overflowing armload of firewood at Anna’s feet and bowed his head. The contrast was stark, as the teenager who was so surly when alone with Remus transformed into a sweet, deferential boy before Anna, the pack’s Mother.  
  
“Thank you, Hardwood,” she said, and the young man ducked his head lower in bashful pleasure. “That’s very fine.”  
  
Here was another thing to which Remus was still adjusting: All the pack’s members had two names. That first night, they had each introduced themselves to Remus with their given “human” names in an almost mocking tone, but they’d never used those names again, only the “werewolf” ones. Ronan’s werewolf name, Hardwood, came from some test of strength with another young werewolf when he’d first joined the pack – Remus hadn’t caught the details.  
  
And for some reason, Remus struggled to retain the nicknames, though they were used more often. The human names he retained easily, though he’d heard those only once.  
  
“Anything else I can do for you, Mother?” Ronan – Hardwood – was asking.  
  
“No, child, that’s fine,” Anna said. “You may run along until it’s time for dinner.”  
  
She smiled up at him and he bowed again, then loped out of the clearing, looking eager to be away quickly, before someone could saddle him with the useless city wolf once again.  
  
Arms aching, having waited his turn, Remus stepped forward now with his smaller armload of wood, gathered here and there amongst the few stands of trees scattered about the moor. He bowed his head and set the wood at Anna’s feet. “This is my small contribution, Mother,” he said.  
  
“Thank you, City,” she said, nodding.  
  
To Remus’ chagrin, this had stuck immediately as his own nickname. It hardly seemed fitting, given he’d spent most of his life in small towns or the countryside. But to these werewolves, City Wolf was what he was.  
  
“Very fine,” Anna said again. “We shall have a bonfire tonight, City Wolf. A fire is good for aching old bones, on the last night before a full moon.”  
  
With another nod she dismissed him, so Remus retreated to his own small spot, a piece of canvas in which he could halfway roll himself up at night, against the base of a tree. It wasn’t a comfortable way to sleep, not at all, but Remus had had worse.  
  
Now he settled down onto his bit of canvas, cross-legged, and observed the camp.  
  
It was a simple place, but with shelter enough to keep out the worst of it when it rained. Each member of the pack – there were twelve – had her or his own small sleeping spot, under a piece of tarpaulin or a shelter made of branches. The centre of the clearing was a communal space for cooking, talking, eating.  
  
At the moment, the only pack members present were Anna, and a woman roughly Remus’ age called Serena. She was a black woman with hair that framed her face in neat, tight curls, and she had a delicate, wiry strength. Her pack nickname was “Trouble.” To Remus, the name didn’t seem at all to match her sombre demeanour, but from comments the others had made when she was introduced, it seemed the nickname originated from incidents in her younger days. Reference to that unspecified backstory had elicited a sly giggle from this otherwise serious and watchful woman.  
  
Currently, “Trouble” was weaving a basket from long strands of grass, periodically glancing up to cast mistrustful glances in Remus’ direction. Uncomfortable sitting idle while the others were working, Remus finally called over to her, “Could I help you?”  
  
Her gaze snapped to him again, startled at being addressed directly. “No, thank you,” she said, polite but definitive. So Remus subsided again, watching as her hands went deftly about their work.  
  
He knew he hadn’t seen Serena at Imbolc, the seasonal festival between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, when werewolves from a number of packs had gathered in the south of France. Remus had attended that gathering as one of his scouting missions for the Order. He remembered seeing the Alpha there, of course, and retained a vague impression of two young males who’d been with him, the two Remus now knew were called Narun (or Rapids, his werewolf nickname) and Adair (or Jump). Narun looked to be of Indian descent, dark-haired and slim, while Adair was blonde, a little shorter, and broader chested. Otherwise the two young men were very similar, both restless and athletic and disinclined to sit still.  
  
Anna, still seated on her tree stump, suddenly lifted her head, as if she’d heard or scented something. Remus looked around. Ah, there – Brighid, the Alpha’s mate, was approaching across the rolling, open land of the moor.  
  
Once again, Remus marvelled at these werewolves’ senses. Even Anna with her clouded eyes saw things Remus missed. He wondered if his own senses were blunted by years of reliance on magic.  
  
Brighid grinned widely as she stepped into the clearing. Brighid had a high forehead and high cheekbones, and flowing auburn hair interrupted at her left temple by a dramatic streak of white. Today, she returned with a whole small deer strapped to her back. As they all did, she went first to Anna, bending to kiss the older woman’s hand.  
  
“We’ll have a feast tonight, Mother,” she said. “A feast tonight and a hunt tomorrow night. Perhaps our City Wolf is a good luck charm,” she added, with a sly glance in Remus’ direction. Brighid, whose werewolf name was Fire, was the only one aside from the Alpha and the Mother who didn’t seem to view Remus with mistrust. She had a mischievous manner, but Remus knew better than to mistake Brighid for anything but what she was: a high-ranking pack member, every inch as fierce and astute as her partner the Alpha.  
  
“Very good, child,” the Mother said, and Remus’ heart squeezed softly at the tenderness of the older woman addressing the younger one that way, although Brighid was surely Remus’ age at least. “Shall we start the fire?”  
  
“So it shall be,” Brighid agreed, setting down her burden and beginning to assemble kindling and wood. Serena put aside her half-finished basket and came to help.  
  
Once again, Remus was no help here. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d built a fire with anything but an _Incendio_ charm. And the pack wouldn’t appreciate him doing wizard-style magic anyway, even if he hadn’t left his wand under a rock on the outskirts of the nearby village.  
  
One by one, the pack members returned to the clearing, as the sun slid down towards the horizon. They bore edible berries harvested from the moor, a few wild mushrooms, and a large jug refilled with water from the nearest stream, as well as more grasses for Serena’s basket-making and a few items of clothing almost certainly nicked from some village clothesline. Not that Remus was going to comment on that.  
  
Last to return was Tamara, nickname Blackthorn, a young woman roughly the same age as Ronan, Narun and Adair. She was willowy and looked as though she might be partly of Chinese descent, and she had long, silky dark hair. Along with her, tugging at her hand in her excitement to return to the camp, came little Joy.  
  
Joy was by far the youngest here, six or seven years old by Remus’ guess. She had wide, curious, dark-lashed eyes that never stopped taking in the world around her, and angular limbs in constant motion.  
  
Joy pulled free of Tamara’s hand and darted to Serena, who ran an affectionate hand over the girl’s head and smiled a rare smile, bringing out unexpected dimples at each side of her mouth. Serena and Joy shared little resemblance beyond having roughly the same colouring, but their relationship certainly seemed like that of a mother and child. Again, Remus knew better than to pry into a werewolf’s family, or chosen family.  
  
Serena steered Joy away from the fire so that Jack and Ashmita, an adult pair of mates, could set up a spit there for roasting meat. Joy wriggled free again, and ran to Anna. “A story!” she called. “Tell us a story, Mother.” That title, of course, belonged to the pack’s mother, rather than to any parent of her own.  
  
Anna chuckled and peered down at Joy, who crouched before the tree stump where Anna sat. “You shall have your story after dinner, child. Ask me then.”  
  
Joy pouted as any six-or-perhaps-seven-year-old would, but was quickly distracted by Ashmita’s offer to let her help turn the spit.  
  
Joy was the only child in the pack. The next youngest was Eirwen, a girl Remus judged to be at the young end of teenaged. Eirwen had a small, round face with an angular nose and anxious eyes, framed by wavy chestnut hair, and the pinched look of someone separated from her family too soon. Remus also suspected she was a newly turned werewolf, within the past few months perhaps, from the hesitant way she moved among the others.  
  
To have so few children was rare for a werewolf pack, Remus knew. Some even had more children than adults – Greyback’s pack in the south of England, for example. That was Greyback’s policy: turning children, turning them when they were young enough that he could turn their minds, too. Even here among werewolves, Remus intended to avoid Greyback for as long as he could. He knew Greyback hated when one of his “own” eluded his clutches.  
  
Remus was saved from the grip of these less than pleasant reflections by the call to dinner. He’d expected a hierarchy in the way the pack ate, and perhaps scorn directed his way, not undeserved, for sharing their food when he contributed so little, but he detected none. Everyone present contributed what they could, and took what they needed.  
  
_Werewolves, the original Communists. Who knew?_ Remus thought with a faint, private smile.  
  
As they ate, several pack members informed the others about food sources or other resources they’d found. Then the Alpha announced, “Rapids will stay with Mother this full moon.”  
  
Remus had expected this would be seen as a burden, but from the way Rapids – that was Narun – subtly straightened up at the words, while Tamara and Ronan and Adair slumped down, he saw that it was anything but. So, being the werewolf who had to stay back at the camp and guard its eldest member was considered an honour. Interesting.  
  
As conversation faded from official announcements to quiet chatter, Anna declared in her thin but carrying voice, “I believe someone requested a story.”  
  
“Yes, yes, yes!” Joy chirped, bouncing up and down. “Yes, please, Mother, please.” Laughter rippled around the circle at her enthusiasm.  
  
“Then in honour of the one who asked,” Anna said, her soft voice carrying through the group with authority, “I shall tell the story of How Children Came to Be.”  
  
Joy snuggled into Serena’s lap, and the adults around the fire settled in comfortably, listening. Eirwen, the lone teenager, clutched her knees to her chest, sitting a little apart from the others.  
  
And Anna began.  
  
“Once, long ago, in a distant time, there were no humans and only two wolves. They were the Great She-Wolf and the Great He-Wolf.”  
  
Heads were nodding around the circle, to a clearly familiar refrain.  
  
“The Great She-Wolf and the Great He-Wolf lived on a wide, beautiful plain, with every kind of animal and plant. The sun coaxed the seeds from the ground and the rain came every day to help them grow.  
  
“But the Great She-Wolf and the Great He-Wolf were lonely, for they were the only animals with the power of speech.  
  
“‘It is a strange thing,’ said the Great She-Wolf to the Great He-Wolf. ‘I know all the things you know and you know all the things I know. There is no one to ask or tell us anything new.’  
  
“‘It is a strange thing,’ agreed the Great He-Wolf. ‘We know so much of the ways of this world, yet we have no one with whom we can share our knowledge.’  
  
“That night, curled up in their den, the Great She-Wolf and the Great He-Wolf both dreamt of the same thing: A small wolf who would understand their words, someone who would ask them new questions and tell them new things.  
  
“The next morning, when the Great She-Wolf went to stoke the day’s fire, she blew on the embers and fed them with twigs, and what should spring up from the flames but the First Cub, a child born of the fire and raised from the Earth.  
  
“And the First Cub looked up and asked, ‘Mother, what am I?’  
  
“And the Great She-Wolf said, ‘You are a wolf cub.’  
  
“And the First Cub asked, ‘Mother, what is this thing that is so warm?’  
  
“And the Great She-Wolf said, ‘This is a fire.’  
  
“And the First Cub asked, ‘Mother, how did I, a wolf cub, come from this, a fire?’  
  
“And the Great She-Wolf said, ‘Child, that is the greatest mystery of all.’  
  
“And every day from that day forth, the First Cub asked a thousand questions, and still woke up the next morning with a thousand more. And the Great She-Wolf and the Great He-Wolf were happy, because they learned to wonder at the world anew when they saw it through the eyes of their child.  
  
“And that, Young Ones, is the story of How Children Came to Be.”  
  
No one said a word into the contented silence. Joy was curled up in Serena’s lap, eyes closed. Ronan and Adair leaned shoulder to shoulder. Eirwen was still hunched over her own knees, gazing at Anna, the Mother.  
  
At last, the Alpha said, “And now, it’s time for sleep. Let us sleep long and well before the full moon night tomorrow.”  
  
A pleasant shiver of anticipation rippled through the group. It was a strange thing to witness, when Remus himself had never felt pleasant anticipation at the approach of a full moon.  
  
No, that wasn’t quite true. During those few precious years when James, Sirius and Peter had been his friends and become Animagi for him, a thread of excitement had mingled with the apprehension before a full moon. During those years, Remus had known his friends would keep him safe and, more importantly, keep others safe from him. And that they would tell wonderful stories in the morning about the adventures the four of them had had in the night, even if Remus himself could only vaguely remember them.  
  
Perhaps, Remus thought as he rolled himself up in his bit of canvas and prepared to sleep, that was how it felt to belong to a pack.


	5. Quiet

 

_I’m on the other side of the bridge and nowhere yet_  
  
_–Halla Norðfjörð, The Bridge_  
  
  
Remus woke to a hand touching his face and for a moment his half-asleep mind made it into a gentler touch – Tonks’ touch – and he sighed.  
  
Then a voice said, “City? Hey, City Wolf.”  
  
Remus opened his eyes to see Brighid grinning down at him, her auburn hair a bright halo around her head. “Ah, there we go. River was afraid you were dead.” River, short for River Run – that was little Joy. Brighid chuckled, turning away, then called back to him, “Breakfast, if you want it.”  
  
Staring up into the tree branches that were mostly managing to stave off a drizzling rain, Remus took stock of his body, as he always did after a full moon. He found no aches and pains beyond the usual, and no new injuries. It seemed running with a pack agreed with him.  
  
He winced, uncomfortable at that thought.  
  
Pushing himself carefully up from the ground, Remus made his way to the fire, where the pack were gathered. Breakfast turned out to be actual toast, which added a bizarre but homey touch to the morning. Remus couldn’t imagine where they’d got the bread from, but skewering it on sticks and holding it over the embers did well enough to turn it into a passable approximation of breakfast toast.  
  
Remus collected a piece of bread and settled down to toast it next to Narun and Tamara, who were leaning together next to the fire and chatting about…what they’d done the night before. The chases and the games, the hunting, all that they’d experienced while transformed.  
  
Remus stopped still with surprise. “You remember what you did last night?” he blurted out, before his tired brain had a chance to catch up with his mouth, and yes, damn it, there were distinct disadvantages to living in the wild without caffeinated beverages.  
  
Narun and Tamara stopped talking and stared at him. In fact, everyone around the fire was now staring at him.  
  
“Er, _yeah_ ,” Narun said, after an excruciating pause. “What, you don’t?”  
  
Remus was astounded. He’d never kept his own mind and memories during a full moon, beyond the vaguest of sense impressions, except with the exceedingly difficult to procure Wolfsbane Potion, and surely they didn’t have that here. How, then, could these werewolves retain their memories of what they’d done in the night?  
  
That question was followed by a further uncomfortable thought: If Remus had done anything untoward or unacceptable to the pack while transformed, everyone here would remember it –except him.  
  
He cast a glance around the circle. Brighid caught his eye, read his face in an instant, and smirked. “Don’t worry, City, you behaved. Seems you play well with others.”  
  
Collecting himself, Remus nodded and returned his attention to his toast. He would have to find an opportunity to ask more about this, how the pack were able to remember their full moon nights.  
  
The day after a full moon was a rest day for the pack, Remus learned, the one day of each month when their busy hands could still. As the rain lightened, the pack’s members began to drift away from the fire. The younger ones moved with enviable ease, as if their bodies hadn’t been torn apart in the night, though those who were Remus’ age moved with the same ginger care as he did.  
  
And Anna, the Mother, where was she? She hadn’t been at the fire for breakfast. Remus looked around and spotted her tucked away in a hammock strung between two trees. Only her hands were visible, waving above the sides of the hammock as she talked with several others who crouched nearby in keen attendance.  
  
Bringing his attention back to the fire, Remus found he was the only one still sitting there aside from Serena, who had Joy cuddled dozily in her lap.  
  
Well, how was he to make progress here if he didn’t dare to speak to the others?  
  
“River’s a very sweet child,” Remus said, trying to find something non-confrontational to say. But even that caused Serena’s head to snap up with suspicion. “The full moon isn’t a frightening time for her?”  
  
“No,” Serena answered shortly. “She’s used to it by now.”  
  
Remus ached to ask more – how long had that been, how long had the child been a werewolf? Instead he dared at last to ask, “Is she your daughter?”  
  
That earned him another glare. “No. My sister’s.” Serena’s features tightened unhappily as she said _sister_ , and now Remus had another mystery to wonder about. “Werewolves can’t bear children. Surely even you know that?”  
  
Serena dropped her gaze back to the child in her lap, and Remus decided discretion was the better part of valour, and perhaps he ought to take his unwelcome presence elsewhere for now. He stood, joints aching, and looked around. Most of the pack seemed to have scattered to their own pursuits, although the Mother was still in her hammock, with Narun and Adair at her side.  
  
As Remus watched, Anna’s hand gesture from within the hammock, and in response Narun called Eirwen over to them. Anna said something Remus couldn’t hear, but he saw Eirwen settle down on her heels next to the hammock, and Anna’s hand reached out to stroke Eirwen’s hair gently back from her face.  
  
Remus was glad to see that sign of affection. That the pack should be slow to accept him – an adult werewolf with a suspect background – was understandable. But that they should be slow to accept Eirwen, who was so young, seemed unkind and a little strange.  
  
Seeing as he didn’t seem to be needed at the moment, Remus stretched his aching limbs and set off for a gentle walk, through the small stand of trees and out to the open moor.  
  
It was lovely countryside, at least when it wasn’t raining. And Remus supposed it was good to get away from the grit and smog of London.  
  
All right, yes, he was stretching it, struggling to find reasons to be glad to be here. Remus was no particular fan of cities as a whole, but it had been perilously pleasant to live in London, near to so many people he could call friends.  
  
He’d got too accustomed to life within the artificial protection of the Order, that was all. He should never have allowed himself to forget that this was who he really was, a werewolf. And here, with a werewolf pack, was where he could be useful.  
  
His mind wandering thus, Remus found himself following roughly the route he’d taken the other day with Ronan while gathering firewood. After twenty minutes or so, he came to a spot he remembered, where the ground level dropped suddenly by perhaps a foot, leaving a vertical slice of earth exposed between the higher and lower stretches of grass-covered land. With the soil here so saturated, water seeped out where the ground was exposed, trickling down out of the grass-covered earth with a gurgle and forming rivulets that eventually joined into a small stream that wound away across the moor. It was as if Remus could look right under the skin of the moor, into the beat and flow of its watery heart.  
  
Crouching down beside this spot, Remus let himself go still, and breathe. He hadn’t allowed himself to fully feel how exhausting it was to be among strangers at all times. Now, listening to the trickling of the water, he let his shoulders sink in relief.  
  
Oh, it was good to be alone and quiet.  
  
As Remus closed his eyes, letting the constant watchfulness of life with the pack ebb away, he felt a stab of longing. _Just loneliness_ , he told himself. _Missing London, the company of the Order. Not…anyone in particular._  
  
But try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from seeing Tonks in his mind’s eye, her quick smile and quicker laugh, her lovely, lively face, the expressive gestures of her hands as she related some story she knew would make him laugh. Remus tried at first to fight the longing, but finally he gave up and let it come, bowed his head there where the moor poured out its secret heart and allowed all his regrets to surface.  
  
Finally, when he felt able to stand again, Remus rose to his feet and continued on over the moor.  
  
When he made his way back to the camp, late in the afternoon after a far-ranging walk, Remus found the clearing nearly empty except for Anna, still ensconced in her hammock but sitting upright now, and Ronan and Tamara, seated a little way off but clearly keeping an eye out for the Mother’s safety.  
  
Now was as good a time as any to attempt a conversation. Remus approached the hammock, bowed his head and asked, “Mother, may I speak?”  
  
She waved him closer. “Yes, child, speak.”  
  
Remus stepped in, then squatted down so he was below her eye level, and spoke deferentially. “How was this full moon for you, Mother?”  
  
“These bones are old and I can’t run like I used to,” she sighed. “But I can still feel the tides in my blood when the full moon rises. And as long as I can feel that, I know I’m alive.”  
  
“Does the transformation become more difficult, over the years?”  
  
She gave a gentle shrug. “Each transformation is the small price we pay before and after for the hours of running free in between.”  
  
Remus drew a fortifying breath. “I hope I’m not too impertinent in asking, but there’s something I’m curious about…”  
  
The Mother chuckled. “You were quite surprised this morning, weren’t you, City Wolf, to learn we retain memories in our human minds from the time we spend in our wolf bodies?”  
  
“I – yes. I was surprised to hear that. Wolfsbane Potion is the only way I know to retain the human mind during the transformation.”  
  
Anna shook her head impatiently. “Not the human mind. The wolf mind. We inhabit the wolf mind during transformation, no longer bound by human restrictions. But, with training, one can learn to carry over into the human mind certain sense memories experienced by the wolf mind.”  
  
“So, they’re not full memories, then?” Remus asked, trying to understand. “Not a factual recollection of what happened, but only sense impressions?”  
  
Anna laughed again. “I don’t know about you, City Wolf, but my sense impressions serve me more than well enough as memories. I remember precisely what the grass felt like under my paws, how far I ran, every creature I encountered, how the forest smelled after a light rain. What is more factual than that?”  
  
“But you don’t retain your human mind. I mean – you can’t control what you do, stop yourself from attacking someone.”  
  
“My wolf mind is more than capable of governing interactions with other creatures I encounter. I don’t need a human mind for that.” Her tone was disapproving.  
  
“But you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from attacking a human, no matter how well you might remember it afterward?”  
  
She shifted in annoyance within her hammock. “We don’t set out to attack humans, City Wolf, no matter what you may believe. If a human strays into our territory despite the repelling enchantments we use specifically for their protection – that is not our fault. Any human who makes it into werewolf territory on a full moon night despite our magic can only have done so through deliberate effort and disregard for our privacy. No, I’m not concerned about such humans, and I see no reason to give up my wolf mind for their sake.”  
  
“And you don’t mind giving up control?” Remus asked, honestly curious. “Giving over your mind and body to something you can’t control?”  
  
“Oh, City Wolf,” she said. “Is that how you live in the city? Always afraid to lose control, afraid to let your wolf mind free?”  
  
“I would never forgive myself if I hurt someone,” Remus said. He shivered at memories of the times, too many times, when he had nearly done so despite his best precautions.  
  
“This is what comes of living among humans,” Anna said, gazing down at him. She sounded honestly distressed. “How terrible. It’s good that you’ve found your way to us now.”  
  
Remus didn’t know what to say to that. “Everyone in the pack can do this, then? Retain the memories of what their senses experienced while they were transformed?”  
  
Anna shook her head. “It takes time to learn it – River Run is still too young to have fully mastered the art. Trouble is teaching her, bit by bit after each full moon, to seek back into her wolf mind and recall. It takes years of practice to learn it well, but it is one of the most important skills each generation passes down to the next. Eirwen, too, has joined us too recently, she hasn’t learned this yet.”  
  
Remus noted the use of Eirwen’s human name, no nickname. Another sign she was not yet fully accepted by the pack. He wished he dared ask something as impertinent as why the pack were so slow to accept a young and seemingly harmless girl.  
  
Anna asked a question instead. “You’ve been out wandering today, haven’t you, City Wolf? I can smell the wind of the open moors on you.”  
  
“Yes, Mother,” Remus said. “I was exploring a bit, getting to know the landscape.”  
  
“And it was good to have some solitude,” she suggested shrewdly.  
  
“Yes, I suppose that’s true as well. I meant no offence, Mother. I’m not yet accustomed to living in a pack.”  
  
Anna peered down at him from her hammock, her gaze astute despite her cloudy eyes. “You miss them, the humans.”  
  
“I – no – yes, I suppose I do. But that doesn’t mean I plan to leave here.”  
  
“You wish, though, that you could return to them.”  
  
“No, Mother.”  
  
“Hmm,” Anna said, not agreeing. She closed her eyes and leaned back. “Why don’t you rest, City Wolf, until the others return.”  
  
Remus knew he had been dismissed. “Yes, Mother. Thank you, Mother.”  
  
Quietly, Remus left her and went to sit on his small bit of canvas at the foot of the tree where he slept each night.  
  
– – – – –  
  
In front of her mirror on the day the Hogwarts Express would arrive to bring the students back to school, Tonks turned all her focus to trying to change her appearance. She wanted to turn her hair purple or something, some little sign of cheer for Harry and the other kids. But no matter how she concentrated and screwed up her face, nothing changed, and Tonks couldn’t begin to guess what she ought to be doing differently. She’d never had trouble transforming. She’d always just done it, without thought.  
  
“Damn it,” she growled at her persistently mousy reflection in the mirror. The drizzling grey day outside wasn’t helping her mood, either. Foul-tempered, Tonks ran a hand through her limp hair, grabbed her cloak, and banged out the door of her flat.  
  
She was on patrol duty in the village all afternoon, until the Hogwarts Express arrived, so Tonks set out to patrol the streets. Hogsmeade looked grim, there was no denying it, with so many of its shops shuttered under the leaden sky. Even Zonko’s Joke Shop, scene of so many happy hours for Tonks and her friends during their school days, was boarded up. It caused Tonks a pang each time she saw the wooden planks nailed over what should have been a brightly lit doorway.  
  
Other shops were still doing business, but even they had a subdued look about them, their signs and window displays less eye-catching than in years past, as if in the hope that being unremarkable would keep them safe.  
  
Some shopkeepers nodded politely as Tonks went by; others pretended not to notice her. The young shop assistant at Scrivenshaft’s, busily arranging a window display, was the only one who gave Tonks a cheery wave when she passed.  
  
Tonks kept herself just short of physical misery with the help of frequent warming charms, but there was no helping the fact that patrolling Hogsmeade’s streets was a bleak task, walking up and down dreary streets for hours on end with nothing much to think about except how disheartening Hogsmeade looked these days. It was a relief when dusk fell and it was finally time to meet the train.  
  
Tonks stayed to one side of the station platform, unobtrusive but watchful, waiting for Harry to emerge amidst the tumult of teenagers streaming from the doors of the train.  
  
But Harry wasn’t among them.  
  
Tonks puffed a frustrated breath through the limp hair that hung in her face. Right, a boy with an Invisibility Cloak and a knack for, if not finding trouble, then certainly trouble finding him: Where would he be?  
  
Tonks jumped aboard the train and started a methodical sweep along its length, moving quickly now, knowing she needed to locate Harry before the train departed again for London. When she came to a compartment with its blinds drawn down, she knew she had the one.  
  
The train lurched, its engine rumbling to life, and Tonks yanked open the compartment door. It looked empty, but that didn’t mean much. She groped her way through the compartment, her hands taking over the search now, quick but thorough.  
  
There, on the floor, a solid form that shouldn’t be there, invisible to the eye. For a moment, Tonks flashed back horribly to the night at the Ministry, Kingsley discovering the inert form of Hestia Jones outside the door to the Department of Mysteries, unconscious and concealed under an Invisibility Cloak.  
  
Tonks yanked at the Cloak covering this particular inert form – which of course turned out to be Harry. She breathed in relief to see he wasn’t even unconscious, just Petrified.  
  
“Wotcher, Harry,” she said briskly. She cast a strong _Finite Incantatem_ and Harry sat up, wiping blood from a bruised-looking face. No time to deal with that now, though. “We’d better get out of here, quickly,” Tonks told him. The train was starting to move, steam billowing past the windows. “Come on, we’ll jump.”  
  
She led Harry into the corridor and flung open the first door they came to. The train was still moving slowly, the platform gently sliding away alongside them. Tonks jumped, knowing Harry would follow.  
  
He landed beside her on the platform, only slightly off-balance, and glanced after the train as it pulled away. His face looked even worse than Tonks had realised in the dim compartment on the train. Whatever – or whoever – had caused that injury, Harry’s pride probably wasn’t doing so well either.  
  
He looked at her and Tonks saw him flush with embarrassment. “Who did it?” she asked.  
  
“Draco Malfoy,” Harry grumbled, looking annoyed.  
  
Tonks, though, was glad to hear it had been nothing more than a schoolboy scuffle – not, say, Death Eaters who’d covertly boarded the train somewhere along the way.  
  
“Thanks for… well…” Harry fumbled.  
  
“No problem,” Tonks answered, sparing him the need to articulate it. Then she added, “I can fix your nose if you stand still.” Minor healing spells she could do practically in her sleep, after years of being both clumsy and an Auror.  
  
She mended Harry’s nose with a flick of her wand and a quick “ _Episkey_ ,” and now it was Remus she was thinking of, Remus the night he’d come to her after a run-in at a gathering of werewolves, when she’d patched him up and tucked him into her bed… No, she shouldn’t let herself think of that now.  
  
Harry was touching his nose gingerly, looking surprised to find it healed. “Thanks a lot!” he said, and Tonks thought she ought to tease him for having no faith in her abilities, but found she couldn’t summon the energy.  
  
“You’d better put that Cloak back on, and we can walk up to the school,” she said instead.  
  
While Harry was occupied with his Cloak, Tonks cast her Patronus to send a message to Hagrid. She hoped she’d managed to do it quickly enough that Harry might not notice her Patronus’ new form… No, sure enough, he was staring after it. “Was that a Patronus?” he asked, looking thoughtful.  
  
“Yes,” Tonks said, supressing the urge to try to explain it away. She’d only draw more attention to her changed Patronus if she started babbling on about it. Instead she said, “I’m sending word to the castle that I’ve got you, or they’ll worry. Come on, we’d better not dawdle.”  
  
They started along the lane from Hogsmeade Station to Hogwarts. Harry asked how Tonks had found him on the train, and she explained. Then they walked on in silence.  
  
The gates to the school grounds were locked, as always. The sight of Harry attempting _Alohomora_ on a lock enchanted by Dumbledore himself should have struck Tonks as funny, but again, she couldn’t seem to muster the energy. No wonder Harry was making a face like he was finding Tonks terrible company.  
  
Fortunately, within moments Tonks spotted a lantern bobbing down from the castle. “Someone’s coming down for you,” she said. “Look.” She peered through the darkness, expecting to see Hagrid’s familiar bulk looming along the path.  
  
But the figure that emerged out of the night wasn’t Hagrid. It was Snape.  
  
And Snape didn’t waste a moment before he having a go at Harry for his tardiness, his appearance and seemingly anything else that came to mind, even as he was opening the gates to allow the boy in to safety. Tonks would never understand the mind of Severus Snape.  
  
Then he turned to Tonks and had a go at her, too, for the silver wolf that had borne her message. “I was interested to see your new Patronus,” Snape sneered, as he swung the gates shut in Tonks’ face. “I think you were better off with the old one. The new one looks weak.”  
  
Tonks reeled back in shock. It was one thing for Tonks herself to disparage the new shape her Patronus had taken. She did that regularly, frustrated to no end by its transformation and her inability to make it change back. But for _Snape_ to insult her Patronus, which so unavoidably represented Remus, when Remus was one of the few people who unfailingly remained civil in the face of Snape’s rudeness and his petty slights…  
  
She might well have hexed Snape if Harry hadn’t been there.  
  
While Tonks stood frozen, Harry and Snape had started up towards the castle. “Good night,” Harry called back to her. “Thanks for…everything.”  
  
“See you, Harry,” Tonks answered automatically, glad to see him inside the gates and heading up to the castle and safety. Even if it was at the side of that hateful old bat.  
  
She stumbled back to the village and up to her attic flat, anger still pulsing in her veins. Anger at Snape for his cruelty, anger at Remus in absentia for allowing himself to be the target of that cruelty. Then anger at herself for being angry at Remus when the problem wasn’t him, it was Snape.  
  
_Getting angry at yourself for being angry?_ she thought, as she slammed the flat’s door behind her, defiantly blocking out the world. _Now who exactly is that going to help?_  
  
Tonks stalked to the mirror again and glared at her reflection with its limp, mousy hair. She hated that she looked like this. She hated that she _felt_ like this. Worn down by grief over Sirius, over Remus, over everything that had happened in the last few months to the world as she’d thought she knew it. And a little frightened by her inability to simply snap out of it, like she always would have done before.  
  
She needed work, that’s what she needed. She needed something meaningful to do.  
  
Early the next morning, Tonks strode to the flat Savage and Dawlish shared, next to the Post Office. Dawlish answered to her knock, looking surprised and only newly awake.  
  
“Tonks,” he said. “We hadn’t planned a meeting for today, had we?”  
  
“I have a plan,” she said. “And I figured I should run it by someone before I start.”  
  
Dawlish blinked. “All right, then, come in.”  
  
Inside the flat, Tonks outlined her idea. “We’re supposed to make ourselves experts on everything that happens in and around Hogsmeade, right? But we don’t know much about the village’s residents, really. I want to work on that systematically, by interviewing or observing every single person in the village individually. I’ll get Magical Census data from the Ministry, then make a point of meeting everybody, one by one.”  
  
“That’s a lot of people,” Dawlish pointed out sceptically. “Hogsmeade looks small, but more witches and wizards fit in this place than you might suppose.”  
  
“That’s fine, time’s one thing I’ve got,” Tonks said. “And I’ll do this on my own time,” she added, in case that hadn’t been clear. “I just think we’d do well to get a sense of where people’s loyalties lie. I’m not going to ask them outright, obviously, but I can get a good sense of things just from chatting with people. I’ll be that nosy, friendly, well-meaning one who’s eager to get to know everybody.”  
  
Dawlish laughed, likely thinking that Tonks was all those things already. And she smiled, knowing she’d gained his approval for her idea.  
  
Setting the plan in motion was as easy as popping next door to hire a post owl and sending off a request to the Ministry’s Magical Census subdivision. Then came an aggravatingly long wait, during which Tonks started to wonder if her time might be better spent going down to London to badger the Census wizards herself. Finally, though, an owl tapped at her attic window late one evening. She hurried to open the latch and let it in.  
  
The parchment scroll the owl carried was disconcertingly small, given that it was meant to contain all of Hogsmeade’s current census data. But Tonks unrolled the scroll to find it had been subjected to a clever little diminishment charm, and came with precise instructions explaining the countercharm to make it grow again. Maybe the Census wizards weren’t quite as useless as she’d been uncharitably thinking.  
  
Tonks scanned the parchment, taking in the several hundred names of Hogsmeade’s residents with a growing sense of gladness at having such a clear task ahead of her. Good, this would keep her busy for a while. And maybe even turn up something useful, too.


	6. Knocking on Doors

 

_But give me to a rambling man_  
 _Let it always be known that I was who I am_  
  
_–Laura Marling, Rambling Man_  
  
  
With the Hogsmeade census list in hand, Tonks started knocking on doors, chatting and smiling and asking friendly questions. It was gratifying to see that even in these days of high suspicion, she was still capable of charming the neighbours into talking with her.  
  
It was tiring, having to act cheerful every day when she herself didn’t feel cheerful, but it got results. In the margins of the census list, Tonks kept notes on anything that might prove relevant. (“Has son in 3rd yr at Hogwarts” or “Thinks Hogsmeade should institute night curfew” or “Seemed shifty at first, but turned out was b/c thought I’d come to check if Floo connection was up to code.”)  
  
She made the rounds of Hogsmeade’s shops, too, striking up small talk as a way to scent out people’s interests, concerns and allegiances. She took to dropping in at the Three Broomsticks sometimes during the afternoon lull between lunch and dinner, and found Rosmerta just as cheerful and good-natured as Tonks remembered from her school days. If anything, Rosmerta’s only fault was that she was perhaps _too_ eager to be likeable, which could make her easily influenced.  
  
Tonks also made a new friend in the jovial old proprietor of Scrivenshaft’s, one of the few people in Hogsmeade who remained unbowed by the gloom that had taken hold of the country. Tonks enjoyed their conversations, though he was often distracted by a need to pull from the shelves an ever-growing stack of books he felt she absolutely must read.  
  
His young shop assistant was likewise just as friendly in person as he’d seemed whenever Tonks passed by the shop. In fact, she got an alarming sense that he was trying to work up the courage to ask her out for a drink, and she ended up ducking out of their conversation a little sooner than she would normally have done.  
  
Tonks even managed – eventually, despite his ably avoiding her for many days – to meet face to face with Aberforth Dumbledore. Because, yes, that was who the owner of the Hog’s Head Inn turned out to be. Tonks gave him grudging credit for an impressive job of hiding in plain sight: the brother of Britain’s most notable wizard running a pub right there in Britain’s only all-wizarding village, and no one seemed to know he was there. He was also, it turned out, a member of the Order, despite never having attended a meeting as far as Tonks could remember. Perhaps being Dumbledore the Younger got him special dispensation.  
  
Stepping back out to the pavement in front of the pub after their highly uninformative chat – the younger brother didn’t give away information any more easily than the elder – Tonks fastened her cloak against the autumn wind and turned her steps towards the Aurors’ headquarters, where it was time for their latest check-in meeting.  
  
“Ministry’s made an arrest,” Savage said as soon as Tonks stepped in the door, clumsily unfastening her cloak with chilled fingers.  
  
Her head snapped up. “Who? Think it’s a valid lead?”  
  
“Too soon to say for certain,” Proudfoot answered. He and Dawlish were seated at the kitchen table. “But have you ever ridden the Knight Bus? They’ve arrested that kid who works as the conductor. Stan Shunpike.”  
  
Tonks thought of riding the Knight Bus the previous winter with Remus, when they’d chaperoned the kids back to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays. The conductor had seemed not only gawky and harmless, but positively intimidated by her when she used her Auror voice on him.  
  
“No way,” she said, dropping into the seat across from Dawlish and rubbing her hands together to warm them up. “They think _he’s_ working for the Death Eaters?”  
  
“That’s what Robards is saying,” Proudfoot said, scratching his nose. He sounded doubtful.  
  
“You think Robards would have authorised the arrest if it weren’t true?” Dawlish countered.  
  
_Yes. Because he’s getting desperate to make it look like he’s managed to do_ something _since taking over the department from Scrimgeour_ , Tonks thought. But she didn’t say it.  
  
“Also, things at Hogwarts aren’t looking so good,” Proudfoot continued.  
  
“Why? What’s happened?” Tonks felt her heart leap to her throat. Surely she’d have heard right away if anything had happened to one of the kids?  
  
“Oh, it’s the just parents, getting nervous,” Savage said dismissively. “A few have decided to pull their kids out of school, thinking they’ll be safer at home. It’s not good for morale. Scrimgeour wants Dumbledore to do something to reassure the students’ families.”  
  
“Maybe Dumbledore could get the Potter kid to put out a statement saying how well-protected he feels at Hogwarts,” Dawlish added.  
  
“So, Tonks…” Proudfoot put in, and Tonks realised they must have discussed this before she’d come in. He raised an eyebrow at her. “How about taking a run at the old man? He seems to like you. Maybe he’ll listen to reason, if you’re the one saying it. Think you could talk him into working _with_ us for once?”  
  
“I can’t promise I’ll be able to get him to go along with what the Ministry wants,” she said cautiously. “But I’ll see if I can get a meeting with him.”  
  
“Good sport,” said Proudfoot approvingly.  
  
_Good luck_ , thought Tonks.  
  
But Dumbledore responded to her request for a meeting with alacrity. She sent him a Post Office owl when she left Dawlish and Savage’s flat, and the return owl arrived that evening as she sat in bed reading over her census list notes.  
  
The next afternoon, the headmaster ushered her into his office with the same good cheer as always.  
  
“How is Hogsmeade?” Dumbledore asked, once Tonks was perched on a chair across from where he sat behind his desk. “Are you settling in all right, away from London?”  
  
Dumbledore being Dumbledore, it was impossible to judge whether he was truly just asking how she liked Hogsmeade, or if he was probing to find out how she was doing with Remus gone, and without Sirius. Given the option of open interpretation, Tonks chose to answer the question at face value.  
  
“It’s fine, sir. I’ve found ways to keep busy.”  
  
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “So I’ve heard.” At her surprised look, he said, “I do have my sources.” And belatedly Tonks remembered, again, that his own brother was right there in Hogsmeade. The man did have a way of slipping out of view.  
  
“So,” Dumbledore continued. “I imagine you’ve been sent here with a message for me on behalf of the Aurors?”  
  
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Tonks asked. “Set it up so the others would think I was the one they’d best send to talk to you?”  
  
Dumbledore twinkled, if possible, even more. “Wouldn’t you have done the same?”  
  
“Er, I suppose,” Tonks said. “Anyway, I’m sure I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, but the Ministry wants you to reassure parents that their children are safe here. Lean on Harry to issue a statement about what a wonderful job he thinks the Ministry’s doing in fending off Voldemort, or something like that.”  
  
“Which you, of course, know I will not do,” Dumbledore replied, his tone pleasant.  
  
“Right, yeah. I mean, I did figure.”  
  
“So let us talk of other things,” Dumbledore proposed.  
  
Tonks nodded. She supposed that was good enough to be able to say she’d discharged the absurd duty assigned to her, of trying to convince Albus Dumbledore of anything.  
  
Dumbledore gazed at her keenly over his half-moon spectacles. “I may find it necessary to be absent from Hogwarts frequently this year. This is in pursuit of certain researches of my own, the particulars of which I’m afraid I can’t reveal at the present, but which I assure you are relevant to our struggle.”  
  
“Ah,” said Tonks. She had no idea why he was telling her this.  
  
“Whenever I am forced to be away from the school for any period of time, I shall ask members of the Order to come and keep watch here in my stead.”  
  
“Ah,” Tonks said again, but with more understanding.  
  
“I hope not to need to call on your services, as I would prefer not to draw the Ministry’s attention to my absences and you are a Ministry employee, albeit a highly discreet one,” Dumbledore said with an inclination of his head. “But if I should occasionally need to ask you to patrol at Hogwarts in addition to your normal duties, would you be amenable?”  
  
“Of course,” Tonks said.  
  
It saddened her to think he no longer trusted the Ministry with the school’s safety – in fact, no longer trusted anyone but the Order – but she could understand why he’d reached that point. Her double role as Auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix would continue to be a delicate balancing act.  
  
_– – – – –_  
  
Autumn tinged the moor with russet hues as the equinox arrived, quietly acknowledged by the pack as the moment in the year when day and night were of equal length, the world poised between the heights of summer left behind and the depths of winter still to come.  
  
And in the days after his second full moon with the pack, Remus acquired a new nickname.  
  
He’d taken to visiting that spot on the moor where the water trickled out from an exposed patch of ground whenever he had a moment free from the responsibilities of the pack. It did him good to have moments when he could slip away and be alone with nothing but the sound of trickling water and his own thoughts.  
  
“Hey there, Peace and Quiet!” a voice boomed, and Remus almost toppled over, where he was crouched down with his eyes closed, listening to the moor.  
  
He struggled to his feet and saw Jack, known within the pack as Thunderstorm, a big, brawny fair-skinned man whose bushy brown beard was shot through with grey. He’d stopped a few paces away from Remus and was smirking at him.  
  
“Er, yes, hello,” Remus said.  
  
He hadn’t heard Jack approaching. Nor had he smelled him. Remus knew that any of the others in the pack could have sensed Jack’s approach by smell alone.  
  
“Enjoying the quiet?” Jack asked, still grinning at Remus.  
  
“Yes,” Remus said politely. “After having lived in a city, I find I appreciate being able to hear water running, and the wind over the moor.”  
  
“Well, well, the professor’s a poet too.” Jack shook his head and strode off in the direction of the camp, calling back, “Don’t be late, Rock Crag’s got a bonfire going.”  
  
When Remus, too, returned not long after, he was met with a round of general laughter.  
  
“Look, it’s Peace and Quiet!” called Ashmita, whose werewolf name was Rock Crag. She was a petite Indian woman with a bird-like build and a small pointed face. She had bright eyes, dark hair and a big, loud laugh that always took Remus by surprise when it emerged from her tiny frame, as it did now.  
  
“Peace and Quiet, who likes listening to the moors,” giggled Tamara, or Blackthorn. Tamara laughed often, too, but it seemed to Remus her mirth was often at others’ expense, and her laugh wasn’t as kindly as Ashmita’s.  
  
The next day, when the Alpha called Remus to him to assign a task, he summoned him with the words, “Quiet, come here a minute.” From then on, that stuck as Remus’ new name. Remus was glad – he liked “Quiet” far better than “City.”  
  
A few days later, to Remus’ relief, young Eirwen finally acquired a werewolf name, too. She’d been scavenging for food with Ronan and Narun, and the three of them had raided a chicken coop in a village some distance away. (Remus tried to quiet his conscience on this aspect of how the pack fed themselves, knowing they had little choice.) Only Eirwen was small enough to slip under a gap in the chicken wire, winning herself the nickname “Slither.” By the end of the evening, the name had stuck fast. Remus saw how she smiled shyly each time someone said it.  
  
The same evening Eirwen got her name, after most of the pack had drifted away to their various sleeping spots, Remus found himself the last one around the fire aside from Serena, with Joy dozing on her lap. He was wondering if he ought to leave and go to sleep as well, afraid his presence was disturbing Serena, when she spoke.  
  
“She came from Greyback’s pack,” Serena said.  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“I’ve seen you watching Slither, wondering why we haven’t accepted her sooner. That’s why. Because she ran with Greyback’s pack first.”  
  
“Oh,” Remus said. “I see.” And he did.  
  
“She turned up here saying Greyback had bitten her and wanted her in his pack, but that she managed to run away after a couple months and find her way up north to us. Which is _probably_ true.” Serena gave Remus a sharp look. “You think we’re too careful?”  
  
“No,” Remus said. He could imagine their concerns all too well: Had Eirwen truly escaped from a pack where she’d been held unwillingly? Or was she Greyback’s spy and only acting the part of the scared runaway? “I understand your concerns when it comes to Greyback.”  
  
Serena gazed at him across the fire, her hands running idly over Joy’s hair in its neat, fine plaits. “What’s your complaint with Greyback? You can’t have experienced his cruelty firsthand, as some of us here have done.”  
  
Remus hesitated. He was accustomed to being among humans, for whom the only thing worse than a werewolf was a werewolf who’d been turned by another, more notoriously bloodthirsty werewolf. But these were not judgemental humans, and honesty was his policy here. “He’s the werewolf who turned me,” he said.  
  
Serena sucked in a breath, audible despite the crackling of the fire. “Ah,” she said. “I see.”  
  
Remus hated telling this story. But to learn more about the others, he knew he had to give of himself as well. And perhaps Serena, as a fellow werewolf, would understand.  
  
“I was just a small child when I was bitten,” he said. “Well, I suppose that must apply to most of us. Adult victims less often survive.”  
  
Serena nodded her silent agreement.  
  
“My father insulted Greyback and Greyback took revenge. I was so young, I hardly have memories from before I was bitten. But I know it changed everything for my parents. They put everything they had into trying to find a cure. But of course, there is no cure.”  
  
Serena gave a bitter laugh. “Nice of them. About all the help my parents ever gave me was making sure the cellar door was firmly locked when they put me in there every full moon.”  
  
“How old were you?” Remus asked softly.  
  
“When I was bitten? Ten. Just old enough to be really looking forward to my school letter. Then one night in the wrong place at the wrong time, and all that was left of my life was being kept out of public as much as possible and locked up every month. When I was fourteen, I was finally strong enough to break out and run away.”  
  
“While you were transformed?” Remus asked, aghast. “Did you hurt anyone?”  
  
“No.” Serena’s expression darkened. “I used to wish I had done, though.” Then, with a glance at Remus, “Oh, don’t look so righteous. You’d understand if you’d seen the way my father looked at me, in the years after I was bitten. The disgust on his face.”  
  
There was nothing Remus could say to that. At least his own parents had always looked at him with love, despite his disease.  
  
For a while, there was no sound but the fire, crackling and spitting as it slowly died down to embers. Then Serena asked, “But you still went to wizarding school?”  
  
Remus nodded. “My parents pushed very hard on my behalf, and Albus Dumbledore did a great thing by believing I could attend Hogwarts without harming the other students.”  
  
“You think he did you some big favour, letting you into his school?” Serena demanded, holding Joy’s sleeping form a little tighter. “Didn’t that only put off the day when you’d end up getting rejected from their world? Gave you false hope, strung you along for long enough that you’ll never truly belong in either place.”  
  
“I – no. I don’t see it that way,” Remus said. “Dumbledore gave me opportunities I would never have had otherwise. I only wish all werewolf children could have the same.”  
  
“Well, thanks for your concern, but we’ll take a pass on that all the same.” Serena glared into the fire. Then, in a low, accusatory tone, she asked, “Why come here, then? If your life in the city was so wonderful?”  
  
This was where Remus must be cautious in what he said. He needed to justify his presence here, while maintaining his own commitment not to say anything he didn’t feel to be the truth.  
  
“It wasn’t all wonderful,” he said slowly. “Hogwarts, yes, I very much enjoyed my time there. But life afterwards…has been difficult. You know the prejudices against werewolves. I could never hold down a job for long. Living among wizards, one grows accustomed to being second class, being passed over, being spat upon. It’s a hard society in which to make a life.”  
  
“Then, why _now_?” Serena pressed, finally looking at him instead of the fire. “Why choose to live in the city for so long, only to leave it now, after all this time?”  
  
Remus laced his fingers together over one knee, gazed down at them and wondered how much to say.  
  
“I had very dear friends,” he said, finally. “People who accepted me as a person, rather than as the dangerous beast the rest of the world saw. They…made life among humans worth living.” He felt that old tightness in his throat. So many years had passed, and still he could not speak of James and Lily without pain. And Sirius –  
  
He didn’t think he could bear to speak of Sirius at all.  
  
“But I lost them,” he said roughly. His voice choked off and he couldn’t stand to continue.  
  
In truth, it was a lie of omission. Remus had not lost all his friends. Far too many of them, but not all. Molly and Arthur, Harry – Tonks –  
  
But they would be safer without him, surely. He was not wrong in implying to Serena that he had good reason to leave the human world behind.  
  
Serena was watching him sharply, but she didn’t press him to say more. The fire crackled, slowly dying.  
  
“What about you?” Remus asked, when the painful tightness in his throat had subsided and he could speak again. He glanced over at Serena. “Would you ever consider living among wizards?”  
  
She stared at him, one hand drifting to rest protectively at the crown of Joy’s head. “Why would I want to do that?”  
  
“For…a roof over your head? Medical care? A safe home for the child?”  
  
“And give up our culture, our traditions, our running free at each full moon? I rejoin the Mother every full moon, when I return to my wolf body. Could you even _see_ the moon from wherever they locked you up when you transformed?” She shivered, and her arms tightened around the child in her lap.  
  
“No one locked me up,” Remus said firmly. “I chose where to be each full moon, somewhere where I could be certain I would harm no one. I can’t say a sightline to the moon was my highest priority.”  
  
“And I say that’s terribly sad. Such a terrible price your wolf self had to pay.”  
  
Remus had nothing to say to that. It was simply a fundamental difference of opinion. He leaned closer to the last remnants of the fire, feeling the night growing colder around them.  
  
“I suppose you’ll go back to the city eventually,” Serena said after a time. “Once you’re done having this little back-to-the-land holiday, or whatever this is for you.”  
  
Remus chuckled at that bizarre image – hardscrabble survival on the open moorland as romantic back-to-the-land holiday – and Serena too, almost unwillingly, smiled a little in the direction of the fire.  
  
“I don’t understand why you all insist on calling it ‘city’ and ‘country,’” Remus said, shifting his legs a little closer to the fire, straightening them out so his knees didn’t ache so. “I’m no city-dweller. I grew up in the countryside and I’ve spent very little of my life in cities.”  
  
“Cities mean wizards and wizards mean cities,” Serena answered dismissively. “And cities are no place for a werewolf. Unless you want to spend all your full moons in a cellar.”  
  
_Or in a dilapidated shack,_ Remus reluctantly added to himself. _Or in the very worst of cases, a holding cell deep in the bowels of the Ministry, a fate I’d wish on no one._  
  
“So, do you?” Serena’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Plan on going back there?”  
  
“I can’t say I’ve ever been able to plan very far ahead in my life.”  
  
He could _hope_ , certainly. But Remus had lived long enough to know that such hopes generally counted for little.  
  
Serena laughed, the first sound of mirth he’d heard from her, a sharp sound like a dog’s bark. Remus’ heart clenched, because it reminded him so much of Sirius.  
  
“Well, you’ve got that right, at least,” Serena said. “A werewolf knows better than to try to plan ahead. We see ourselves through this winter, and if we make it, we try to see ourselves through the next one.” She cocked her head at Remus. “We’ll see how long you stick it out here once the winter starts, shall we?” Her look plainly said she doubted he had the requisite toughness.  
  
Remus smiled. “Yes, we’ll see.”  
  
Serena nodded, as though an important element of their conversation had concluded. Then she gave a small sigh and began to gather Joy up in her arms, preparing to stand. “I’m going to sleep. Will you bank the fire?”  
  
As she struggled to push herself up from the ground with the sleeping child in her arms, Remus hurried to his feet. “Let me help you,” he offered.  
  
Serena gave him a wary glance, but allowed him to lift the girl from her lap, then place her back in Serena’s arms once she was standing. Again Remus wanted to ask their history, how Serena had ended up raising her sister’s daughter, but he didn’t dare.  
  
“Thank you,” Serena said, sounding almost bashful.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Remus replied, hearing his voice go gravelly with emotion. It was something about the innocence of a child, that sleeping weight in his arms. “Good night.”  
  
Serena nodded and made her way across the clearing to the little shelter of branches that she and Joy shared. Remus banked the fire, but stood a long time over it, pensive. He was thinking of Tonks, although he was trying very hard not to.  
  
_They made life among humans worth living_ , he’d told Serena. He’d been speaking of the friends he’d lost, Lily and James and Sirius. But Tonks, too, had made the struggle that was Remus’ human life worth living. Worth it and more.  
  
But he had done the right thing in setting her free to live her own life. He must, _must_ , keep reminding himself of that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the werewolf pack makes for a lot of OCs to keep track of (and on top of that, I gave each character two names rather than just one!) so now that they've all been introduced, I'm going to start including a list of their names and brief descriptions at the end of each chapter where they appear.
> 
> The werewolf pack:  
> the Alpha, a male in his 40s, the pack's leader  
> Anna, or the Mother, the oldest pack member, symbolic mother of all  
> Brighid, or Fire, the Alpha's mate, roughly his age  
> Serena, or Trouble, roughly Remus' age  
> Jack, or Thunderstorm, a little younger than the Alpha, Ashmita's mate  
> Ashmita, or Rock Crag, Jack's mate  
> Ronan, or Hardwood, young adult member of the pack, perhaps 20  
> Narun, or Rapids, roughly the same age  
> Adair, or Jump, roughly the same age  
> Tamara, or Blackthorn, roughly the same age  
> Eirwen, or Slither, a young teenager, 13 or 14  
> Joy, or River Run, the pack's youngest member, 6 or 7


	7. Enquiring Minds

 

  
_You can’t start a fire, sitting around crying over a broken heart_  
_This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just dancing in the dark_  
   
_–Bruce Springsteen, Dancing in the Dark_  
 

  
Tonks kept knocking at doors and chatting with shopkeepers, and just when she was starting to think Hogsmeade would turn out to be entirely, boringly harmless after all, she surprised herself by turning up a lead.  
   
She’d dropped in at a small bookseller’s shop that was tucked away down a side lane, far from the high street. When Tonks walked through the door of the shop in her Auror robes, the bookseller, a slim-shouldered man with a tidy brown moustache, looked up nervously. And he looked even more nervous when she showed an inclination to hang around and make conversation.  
   
Being nervous wasn’t against the law, of course, but nervousness in the presence of an Auror tended to have a certain indicative quality. So Tonks leaned against the counter next to the old-fashioned till and turned up the charm.  
   
“Nice weather today,” she said brightly, though it wasn’t, particularly. But at least it wasn’t raining, that was something.  
   
“Suppose so,” the bookseller returned unwillingly, shifting from one foot to the other.  
   
Oh, yes, this was part of her job she loved, the mystery-solving part, where she had to use her wits and her training to scent out subtle clues that didn’t quite add up, all without letting the subject catch on to what she was doing.  
   
“This is such a cosy shop,” Tonks chirped. “And it looks like you have a great selection. Do you get many Hogwarts students coming in here?” She turned her body subtly towards the right side of the shop, where a tall shelf labelled _HISTORY AND MAGICOPHILOLOGY_ teetered up to the ceiling.  
   
“No, no,” the man mumbled, but his posture eased slightly. “The kids want sweets and jokes and things. They don’t usually come in here.”  
   
Now, Tonks swivelled her body discreetly to the left. “But the Hogwarts professors, surely? You must get a lot of them.”  
   
The proprietor agreed, “Oh, yes. Plenty of the professors come in.”  
   
Interesting, he still looked more at ease than he’d been when she was facing directly towards him. So whatever he was hiding, it wasn’t to her left or her right. Tonks shuffled to the side, pretending to examine a stack of tomes beside the till, until she’d manoeuvred herself to the point that she could face the back of the shop without also facing the man himself. “Do you sell fiction, too? Or just nonfiction?”  
   
He tensed. “What? Oh, no, no, only nonfiction titles. For novels, you’ll need to visit The Lovely Leaves, down the other end of the village.”  
   
Eureka. Whatever he was hiding, it was somewhere in the back of the shop, in the staff-only rooms beyond the counter.  
   
“Oh, right,” Tonks said, affecting nonchalance despite a rising tide of elation in her chest. “Thanks for the tip. Maybe I’ll drop by there later on.”  
   
“Yes, yes,” the bookseller murmured, relaxing again as Tonks turned away and pretended to survey the titles in the _TRANSFIGURATION AND CONJURING_ section that took up the lower portion of one wall.  
   
She chirped a goodbye as she exited the shop, strolled back along the lane until she’d turned the corner onto the high street and was out of sight of the bookshop – then bolted for the Post Office to send an owl to Arthur Weasley in his official capacity as head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects.  
   
But when she met with Arthur the next evening at the kitchen table in the Burrow, his response was disheartening.  
   
“I’m sorry, Tonks,” he said. “I do understand your impulse, but ‘he was acting shifty’ just isn’t enough justification for me to authorise a full-scale raid. I’ve still got egg on my face over our raid on Malfoy Mansion that came up empty-handed. Another one like that and they’ll stop listening to me entirely.”  
   
Tonks stilled her fingers, which were tapping impatiently against the tabletop. “Arthur, I’m sure of this. There’s something illegal in that shop, probably something fairly Dark. You can trust my instincts – this is what Aurors train for. The guy may not be a Death Eater himself, but I promise you, he’s in league with them.”  
   
Arthur rubbed his forehead, face uncharacteristically weary. “Get me some evidence, then. Any hard evidence I can base this on, and I’ll see what I can do.”  
   
Tonks nodded. “All right. I’ll find a way to get evidence.”  
   
“You’ll stay for dinner, Tonks, won’t you?” Molly broke in, poking her head around the kitchen doorway. Tonks knew her tired features and drab hair were bringing out Molly’s mother hen instinct, and the chance to eat a proper home-cooked meal certainly was appealing. But Tonks finally had a professional puzzle to dig her teeth into, and she couldn’t wait to start grappling with it.  
   
“Thanks, Molly,” she said. “I appreciate it, but I’ve got to get back to Hogsmeade.”  
   
Molly clucked her disapproval, but Tonks was soon waving goodbye and stepping beyond the boundary of the Burrow’s garden to Apparate away.  
   
Back in her attic room, she kicked off her boots, shrugged out of her cloak, then grabbed a quill and parchment and got to work, scribbling down notes concerning what she was already referring to in her head as The Case of the Dodgy Bookseller.  
   
– – – – –  
   
The pack, as it turned out, were not in fact planning to face the winter without a roof over their heads. Remus had been quietly wondering over this for a while, when Ashmita finally filled him by explaining the purpose of a pile of lumber scraps and odds and ends, which had been slowly growing beside the usual supply of firewood stacked to one side of the clearing.  
   
Ashmita laughed out loud when Remus admitted he’d been wondering if the pack planned to continue into the winter living as they were. “Being werewolves doesn’t make us _idiots_ ,” she exclaimed. Then she patted him on the shoulder and explained that the pack preferred sleeping in the open during the summer months, but before winter arrived they would build a lean-to from the wood they’d collected. It would be a simple structure, just large enough for all the pack to find sleeping space within it.  
   
“It’s what makes winter such a special time,” Ashmita said, her tone unusually earnest. “It’s cold outside, yes, but winter brings us closer together to share warmth, and share the fire. It’s when we tell our stories, when the young ones learn about our culture and our past. You’ll see.”  
   
Privately, Remus felt they already shared quite close quarters and spent an enormous amount of time together around the fire, but he was curious to see if the change in living arrangements really did have an effect on the social interactions of the pack.  
   
The October full moon passed and the air grew decidedly chill. Winter preparations commenced in earnest, with nearly all daylight hours spent scouting for building materials, along with the usual supplies. These scouting trips ranged further and further afield in search of scarce resources, and Remus thought often how much easier their lives would be if they could Apparate. But of course Apparition training and licencing were privileges not accessible to those who lived beyond the bounds of wizarding society.  
   
Remus also thought often of his wand, still safely stowed – he hoped – beneath a rock outside the village to which he’d Apparated when he first came to the moor. Already, that life seemed a world apart. Remus missed magic, and not only for how much easier it made daily tasks. He hadn’t been without his wand for any significant length of time since he was eleven, and he missed its familiar tingle of magical energy against his palm.  
   
“Keep up there, Quiet!” Narun called back to Remus.  
   
He was out with Narun and Ronan today, this time for nothing more strenuous than collecting firewood. Remus’ muscles still ached from the last few days, which the entire pack had spent hauling away wooden beams from an abandoned barn some of the younger ones had come across in their explorations. No wonder he was daydreaming of wands and locomotion charms.  
   
He was also trying to puzzle out why the Alpha so often sent him out with some combination of the young ones, when Remus could just as easily have been paired with one of the adult members – Serena, Ashmita, Jack, Brighid. Instead, he was once again out for the day with two of the pack’s younger members, who were openly disdainful of his presence. Were they meant to be a good influence on him, or he on them?  
   
Remus jogged a little, to catch up. “You’re right, I was daydreaming,” he said, giving Narun a friendly smile. Narun looked at him blankly for a moment, then turned again to Ronan.  
   
The lion’s share of the two young men’s conversation so far that day had consisted of some mild whingeing about how boring it was to look for firewood all day, and how much more fun it was when it was their turn to hunt the small game that formed an important part of the pack’s diet.  
   
There was no denying the truth behind their complaint – there wasn’t much excitement out here for young adults like these two. Once again, Remus wished these boys had had the opportunity to learn wand magic, and to take advantage of their intelligence and abilities.  
   
“It would sure be something, right?” Narun said to Ronan, having returned to ignoring Remus.  
   
“Yeah,” Ronan said. “But what d’you think it’s like?”  
   
“At this rate, we’re never going to know, are we?”  
   
Remus was now acutely aware that their conversation had moved beyond innocent chatter about hunting rabbits.  
   
Suddenly Narun’s attention was back on Remus. “You’ve been in other packs, right?”  
   
“I’ve never before lived within a pack,” Remus replied, cautious, “but I’ve visited a number of different ones, yes.”  
   
“So you’ve been in some of those ones that aren’t so strict about never harming humans. Where it’s okay to kill them if they get in our way on the full moon?”  
   
Remus had not expected to be asked that question so bluntly.  
   
“I have never spent any length of time with such a pack, nor would I ever choose to join such a one,” he said, keeping his tone carefully non-confrontational. “I believe that if one has the power to do harm, it is all the more reason not to do so.”  
   
“I just don’t see why _we_ should have to hide from _them_ ,” Narun said, his increasingly strident tone ringing out in the clear, cold air. “Why are we always the ones who have to keep out of their way?”  
   
They were such a strange mix of elements, these boys – bravado and an urge to prove themselves as adults, mixed with a genuine respect for the hierarchy of the pack and a deference towards their elders, especially Anna, the Mother. Their allegiance to the pack structure was all the more evident in the way they disdained Remus, who might be their elder in years but was nowhere near them in pack status. Yet they chafed, too, at the restrictions placed on them by the Alpha of the pack.  
   
“Besides, we’re werewolves,” Ronan put in. “It’s in our nature. Telling us we can’t attack is like – like putting us in a cage or something.”  
   
“We used to meet with other packs more often, you know. We’re not dumb, we know a lot of them are freer about that stuff,” Narun said, and Remus again remembered having seen both him and Adair in France with their Alpha the previous winter, at a large gathering of werewolves during the festival of Imbolc. “But Alpha hasn’t let us go to any of the big gatherings in ages. Doesn’t want us getting ideas, you know?” He snorted softly, probably the closest he would come to expressing open disapproval of his Alpha.  
   
Shifting the branches he was carrying into his other arm, Remus decided to try a different tack. “How did you first become werewolves?” he asked. “Narun – Rapids, how were you turned?”  
   
This was an indelicate question and one Remus would have hesitated to ask an adult member of the pack, but he suspected the younger ones wouldn’t mind as much.  
   
Indeed, Narun didn’t even blink. “We were on holiday, my birth family and I. Camping in the Black Forest. They were killed and I was turned. You’re probably going to say they were innocent victims and I should feel bad about them and whatever, but there’s no such thing as innocent. There’s just predator and prey, and if you’re stupid, that makes you prey. My birth parents were _stupid_.”  
   
Ah, yes, the surety of youth. “I don’t see the world in terms of predator and prey,” Remus replied, but he left it at that for now. “Hardwood, what about you? How were you turned?”  
   
Ronan shrugged. “It was an accident, too. I don’t really remember it.”  
   
Remus doubted that. He remembered his own attack vividly, and he had been a very small child then. His impression was that most of the pack’s members had been turned by chance, by the bad luck of being in the wrong place on a full moon, not because they’d been the specific target of revenge, like Remus.  
   
Sometimes Remus honestly wasn’t sure which was worse.  
   
To Ronan he said, keeping his voice light, “Then I suppose I can’t ask you if it was an experience you would wish on any other child?”  
   
Ronan shrugged again, looking uncomfortable.  
   
“I remember the attack that turned me,” Remus said quietly. “I wouldn’t wish it on another living soul.”  
   
The boys were quiet for a while after that. Remus’ words seemed to hang in the air between the three of them, uncomfortably so. But perhaps unsettling them a little in their cocksure beliefs was entirely the point. At any rate, when the boys’ conversation eventually started up again, it drifted to other, less fraught topics.  
   
When they arrived back in camp that evening, they learned that Tamara and Adair had managed to “liberate” an entire roll of tar paper from somewhere, and the mood in the little clearing was jubilant at the thought of all the winter nights in which they would now not be rained and snowed upon.  
   
Construction of the pack’s winter shelter began in earnest the next morning.  
   
– – – – –  
   
Tonks was about ready to tear out her (mousy, brown, persistently un-transformed) hair.  
   
For days now, she’d been trying to come up with a way to see, hear or seize the evidence she needed in order to initiate a raid on her dodgy bookseller, without tipping him off to what she was trying to do.  
   
It was frustrating that such a seemingly simple thing should prove so difficult to carry out. That, combined with the effort of putting on her cheerful-neighbourhood-Auror act, when not in fact feeling cheerful in the least, had Tonks feeling cranky.  
   
So, all in all, she was not best pleased when Dawlish reminded her that the next day would be Hogwarts’ first Hogsmeade weekend of the school year – which meant Tonks would most likely be spending her day preventing thirteen-year-olds from hexing each other, instead of continuing her search for the evidence she so badly needed.  
   
The morning dawned bitterly cold. A blustering wind rattled at Tonks’ attic window, which was rendered opaque by a thin sheen of frost. Lying in bed, Tonks took a moment to mentally hex all the impediments to her investigation, but most especially thirteen-year-olds, then threw off the covers and got dressed.  
   
It didn’t even lift Tonks’ mood when her rounds of Hogsmeade’s heavily sleeting streets brought her directly upon Harry, Ron and Hermione. There wasn’t much time for pleasantries, anyway, given that Tonks arrived to the sight of Mundungus Fletcher Disapparating and an apoplectic Harry hurling invective at the empty air where Mundungus had been.  
   
“There’s no point, Harry,” Tonks said, with little energy to spare for anything more than the bare minimum of facts. “Mundungus will probably be in London by now. There’s no point yelling.”  
   
“He’s nicked Sirius’ stuff! Nicked it!”  
   
_Yeah, but being divested of some old Black family junk is really the least of your worries, kid_ , Tonks thought as she chivvied the three of them on towards the warmth and relative safety of the Three Broomsticks. And anyway, she thought with a pang, Sirius himself probably would have had a laugh to see that Mundungus’ latest get-rich-quick scheme was at his expense, stealing family heirlooms Sirius had never wanted anyway.  
   
Once Tonks had seen the kids safely inside the Three Broomsticks, it was back to patrolling the village streets in the relentless sleet. Until, not an hour later, Savage appeared in front of Tonks with a pop and shouted that a student had been cursed on the way back to Hogwarts. Savage was already twisting the dials on his Aurorlog – the service-issue wristbands that allowed them to communicate urgent situations to their colleagues via the colours and positions of the hands on its face – to summon the others to them.  
   
Things kicked into high gear after that. Savage and Proudfoot went to conduct witness interviews at the Three Broomsticks, apparently the last known origin of the necklace that had cursed the student, while Dawlish did a sweep of town and Tonks, once again, was dispatched to Hogwarts as a liaison to get the rest of the story – the actual story, as opposed to the rumours that were already circulating wildly thanks to other students who had witnessed the incident.  
   
Tonks arrived up at the castle to learn that Dumbledore was away on “official business” (“business,” right – more like secret doings for the Order) and McGonagall was in the hospital wing checking on the cursed student. So Tonks waited outside the deputy headmistress’ office, watching melting sleet drip from her hair until she finally got fed up and Vanished the rest of the damp slush that clung to her head and cloak.  
   
“Ms Tonks.” Tonks looked up to see McGonagall approaching.  
   
“Hello, Professor McGonagall.” Seeing McGonagall always made Tonks feel weirdly formal. McGonagall hadn’t been her head of house, of course, but she’d helped Tonks a lot in her first years at Hogwarts, with the complications of learning Transfiguration as a Metamorphmagus, which was a lot more complicated than people assumed. “I’ve been sent to find out from you what happened, while the other Aurors are investigating in the village.”  
   
McGonagall nodded briskly, stepping in to unlock her office door as Tonks tried awkwardly to step out of her way without bumping into McGonagall or slipping on the wet floor.  
   
Once they were settled on opposite sides of the professor’s desk, McGonagall said, “The girl who was attacked today is called Katie Bell. She is a seventh-year student in Gryffindor house. Whilst at the Three Broomsticks, she was given a package by an unidentified individual, with instructions to deliver it to the school. We’re operating under the assumption that she was additionally placed under an Imperius curse, since the friend who was with her at the time reports she was acting ‘oddly’ and being quite insistent on the necessity of delivering the package, despite the suspicious circumstances surrounding it. Professor Snape is working as we speak to contain the curse, and Miss Bell will be transferred to St Mungo’s as soon as she is stable.”  
   
“She’ll be all right, then?”  
   
“We hope so.”  
   
“And there’s no indication who gave her the package?”  
   
“None so far. If your colleagues in Hogsmeade do discover additional information, we would be grateful to hear about it.”  
   
“Of course,” Tonks said. The Ministry and Dumbledore might be increasingly at odds, but this was a matter of a student’s safety. Both sides should put aside their differences and collaborate as closely as possible.  
   
Tonks glanced again at a row of vials that lined the shelf behind Professor McGonagall’s head. Those vials kept drawing Tonks’ eye, giving her the niggling sense that they connected somehow to something that could help with her Dodgy Bookseller problem, if she could only focus her mind and catch hold of what that something was.  
   
Vials…vials like ones used to store memories for a Pensieve – or to hold sounds caught using a sound-capturing charm…but she’d already rejected that idea. There was no way to get close enough to her target to record him saying something incriminating without him knowing she was there. Not even a distance hearing charm would help – those could magnify faraway sounds, but only if she could get a sightline on the source in order to cast the charm, which again was not going to happen. The guy wasn’t exactly going to let her hang around in his back room listening to him talk.  
   
Sound-capturing charms…sounds that were too far away to capture…wishing she could get her ears close enough to hear those sounds… What was the tantalising connection hovering just beyond her reach?  
   
“Ms Tonks?” Professor McGonagall asked, probably wondering why Tonks was staring fixedly at the air above her head.  
   
“Oh – sorry,” Tonks said, dragging her attention back to the woman in front of her.  
   
Professor McGonagall…that stern expression…stern but fair, giving the same telling-off to mischief-makers even if they were in her own house…a crystal clear memory from Tonks’ own student days, of McGonagall standing in the Entrance Hall with her hands on her hips, dressing down two pint-sized pipsqueaks with flaming red hair and identically unrepentant grins…two pipsqueaks who would go on to become some of Hogwarts’ most accomplished mischief-makers …  
   
“Extendable Ears!” Tonks gasped.  
   
“Pardon?” McGonagall asked, her eyebrows climbing up her forehead.  
   
“Just – sorry, Professor, I think I’ve made a breakthrough in a case I’m working on and I need to go to London, right now.” Leaping to her feet, she added, “We’ll keep you apprised and let you know if the investigation in Hogsmeade turns up anything about the source of the cursed package. I’m so sorry to rush out like this, but I’ve got to get to London before the shops close.”  
   
“Yes, of course, that’s fine.” Professor McGonagall looked nonplussed, but rose smoothly from her seat. “Do drop by any time, Nymphadora.”  
   
Tonks forced herself to slow down and be polite. “Thank you, Professor, really. Thanks for taking the time to fill me in on this. I know how busy you are.”  
   
“Any time.” McGonagall repeated, and looked almost indulgent as she saw Tonks and her flurry of urgency to the door.  
   
Once she was outside the office and striding down the corridor, Tonks pulled out her watch. Yes! There was still enough time to make it to London before the end of business hours and pay a visit to Mssrs. Weasley and Weasley. _  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Fernwithy for the idea that learning Transfiguration is actually harder for a Metamorphmagus, not easier – I though that was a really cool idea, so I borrowed it!
> 
> Also, I was fascinated ages ago by this story about young Tonks learning to control her Metamorphmagus abilities – and, again, it being less intuitive and more difficult than you might think: "[The Shape of Me](http://www.fictionalley.org/authors/pandora_culpa/TSOM.html)" by Pandora Culpa. If I remember right, the story is unfinished, but it doesn't leave you with a terrible cliffhanger or anything. And very much worth reading for the exploration of what it's like to be a young Metamorphmagus!
> 
> My own story "[In the Wrong House](http://archiveofourown.org/works/630195/chapters/1139534)" is sneakily the source of the "distance hearing charm" Tonks mentions here. (Remus teaches it to the Marauders for purposes of a prank!)
> 
> And here are those werewolves again, to help you keep track:
> 
> The werewolf pack:  
> the Alpha, a male in his 40s, the pack’s leader  
> Anna, or the Mother, the oldest pack member, symbolic mother of all  
> Brighid, or Fire, the Alpha’s mate, roughly his age  
> Serena, or Trouble, roughly Remus’ age  
> Jack, or Thunderstorm, a little younger than the Alpha, Ashmita’s mate  
> Ashmita, or Rock Crag, Jack’s mate  
> Ronan, or Hardwood, young adult member of the pack, perhaps 20  
> Narun, or Rapids, roughly the same age  
> Adair, or Jump, roughly the same age  
> Tamara, or Blackthorn, roughly the same age  
> Eirwen, or Slither, a young teenager, 13 or 14  
> Joy, or River Run, the pack’s youngest member, 6 or 7
> 
> (And hey, we're a third of the way through the story already! How did that happen?)


	8. Nymphadora Tonks and the Case of the Dodgy Bookseller

_She is fast, thorough, and sharp as a tack  
She is touring the facility and picking up slack_  
  
_–Cake, Short Skirt/Long Jacket_  
  
  
A garden gnome chuckled above Tonks’ head as she stepped into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, which seemed a fitting touch for a shop owned by the Weasley twins. Tonks looked around the place and felt her eyes pop. She’d been in here only once, shortly after Fred and George had first opened it in the spring, and she’d forgotten how _colourful_ it was, how full of strange shapes and baffling noises and bright sparks of light. It was an oasis in dreary Diagon Alley.  
  
“Tonks!” Fred was striding towards her down the middle of the shop. “It’s an honour! What brings you here?” He reached out and pumped her hand, grinning.  
  
“Hi, Fred,” Tonks said and, as always, he looked a little put out that she could tell him and his twin apart so easily. Honestly, it wasn’t hard to distinguish Fred’s brashness from George’s slyer sense of humour. Tonks had never understood why others seem to struggle with it. But then, maybe they were only looking at the boys’ features, and not the expressions those features bore. A Metamorphmagus learned early not to rely on appearances.  
  
“What can I do for one of my favourite crime fighters?” Fred asked. “Edible Dark Mark, perhaps, for that immediate gratification of revenge? Instant Darkness Powder for confounding your enemies? Portable Distraction Charm to win even the most capable Auror an extra few seconds of precious time? What’ll it be?”  
  
As he spoke, he ushered her further into the shop, sweeping his arms about to indicate the products he named, and Tonks smiled. Fred’s enthusiasm was infectious.  
  
“Do you still have those Extendable Ears you kids were always mucking about with at Headquarters last summer, trying to overhear our conversations?” she asked.  
  
Fred put on a wounded look. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. Mum told us to dispose of those, so that’s exactly what we did.”  
  
“Right, Fred. Pull the other one.”  
  
He grinned again. “Yeah, they’re over here.”  
  
He led Tonks to a narrow shelf along one of the side walls of the shop. The sign above the shelf read “AUGMENT YOUR SENSES – IT’S A SENSE SENSATION!” and the Extendable Ears Tonks had previously only ever seen scrunched up in the kids’ hands or being hastily shoved into pockets now looked very professional indeed, neatly coiled inside sleek, transparent packaging.  
  
“Nice,” she acknowledged, reaching up to take a package off the shelf. She turned it over in her hands and Fred beamed.  
  
“Highest quality, high-strength tensile pseudo-aural device, self-directing and capable of extending up to 20 feet, slim enough to slip beneath nearly any door, sensitive enough to pick up even whispered conversation. The perfect choice for the nosey – or should I say ear-y – among us. How many Weasleys’ Patented Extendable Ears will you be needing?”  
  
Tonks laughed. “Just the one’ll do, Fred, thanks. But that’s a good sales pitch you’ve got going there.”  
  
She followed him to the register and he rang up her purchase, insisting on giving her what he termed “our Order of the Phoenix discount.”  
  
“Dare I ask?” Fred said as he handed over her purchase in an eye-wateringly vivid orange bag. “What do you, a respectable and grown-up person, need Extendable Ears for?”  
  
Tonks grinned. “If I said it was official Auror business, would you believe me?”  
  
“Nah, probably not.”  
  
“Well, then.”  
  
The sound of Fred’s pleased chuckle followed her out the door of the shop, and Tonks left feeling lighter than she had done in days. Weeks? Months?  
  
She Apparated back to Hogsmeade to find dusk falling. The autumn days were growing shorter, and Hogsmeade was so far north. But for once, Tonks was glad of these long Scottish winter nights. More night-time meant more opportunity to observe her target under the cover of darkness.  
  
She popped back to her attic flat just long enough to pull on warm clothes and brew some strong tea. She poured the tea into a lidded mug, adding sealing and warming charms that she hoped would be enough to keep it warm-ish for a while. Household-y spells were, as ever, really not her strong suit.  
  
Then Tonks returned to the Dodgy Bookseller’s bookshop, circling around to the back of the building. She cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself for good measure, and sidled up into the shadows surrounding the back entrance.  
  
It wasn’t a big building. Whatever back room the bookseller was using as a covert hiding place undoubtedly was within twenty feet of where Tonks now stood. Close enough to be within range of the Weasleys’ patented product she’d just purchased, in other words. Tonks slipped the Extendable Ear from her pocket, placed the hearing end of it on the ground, and whispered, “ _Go_.” The flesh-coloured string wriggled itself beneath the door, and kept going until its whole length stretched away from her, taut. Success! Tonks put the listening end to her own ear. There was nothing to be heard at the moment, but that didn’t dampen her spirits in the least.  
  
_I don’t mind_ , she thought. _I can wait as long as it takes._  
  
– – – – –  
  
It took Remus inexcusably long to realise that when members of the pack sometimes disappeared for days on end with no explanation, they were not just scouting for supplies.  
  
First it was Jack and Ashmita, the mated pair most senior in the pack after the Alpha and his own mate Brighid, who were gone for five days with no one asking why.  
  
Next it was two of the younger ones, Tamara and Narun, who disappeared for several days, then were summoned to the Alpha for a private conversation on their return.  
  
They weren’t collecting food or useful items for the pack, Remus finally realised. They were collecting information. They were the Alpha’s scouts, sent out into the wizarding world to keep him informed.  
  
It was rare for Remus to catch the Alpha alone, so he seized the chance when he found such an opportunity late one afternoon, in the little lull that sometimes fell between the day’s activities and the evening fire. Though he soon began to wonder if the Alpha himself might not have arranged their seemingly chance conversation.  
  
“Alpha, may I speak?” Remus asked, approaching the man with deferential posture.  
  
The Alpha was sitting on a stump at the edge of the clearing, whittling bits of wood into what appeared to be pegs. Finishing touches, perhaps, for the lean-to that was daily growing more complete. The Alpha inclined his head. “You have questions.”  
  
Remus sank to his haunches in front of the Alpha. His knees protested for a moment, but they were growing more accustomed to this position. “I suppose I do,” he agreed. There was no need to obfuscate with the Alpha – and frankly, no sense in trying. “You send pack members on scouting trips. You seem very much the isolationist, concerned only with the day-to-day survival of your pack, but at the same time you’re keeping a close eye on the outer world, aren’t you?”  
  
“I would be a fool not to do so, Quiet,” the Alpha said. “I am no fool.”  
  
Remus nodded. The Alpha said nothing and continued to whittle, barely needing to keep his eyes on his work as his deft hands flew. Finally, Remus said, “You send the young ones out, as well. Not only the senior members of the pack. Do you –” He stopped.  
  
_Do you trust them?_ Remus wanted to ask. _Do you trust them not to be seduced by the Greybacks of the world, who will promise them power and glory, where you can offer only quiet stability?_ But posing a question like that wasn’t his place.  
  
The Alpha, though, answered the unspoken thought. “If I don’t let them explore the world, they will find another way to go. I prefer to have that youthful exploration occur on my terms.”  
  
Remus nodded. That made sense.  
  
“You remember that you saw us, earlier this year, when a number of packs gathered to celebrate Imbolc,” the Alpha continued. “You’ll surely have noticed we haven’t attended another such gathering since then, not even at Midsummer. This is a dangerous time, with much hanging in the balance. I choose ‘isolationism,’ as you term it, because it is the only steady course. Yet even an isolationist must remain informed about the actions of others.”  
  
“And you never think of taking a side?”  
  
The Alpha fixed him with a powerful stare. Remus, remembering his place, dropped his gaze.  
  
“You may think this is your war, City Wolf,” the Alpha said, and Remus noted the return to the older nickname. “But I know it is not mine. It is no concern of mine who rules over the wizards, for we are not wizards.”  
  
“But you know what Fenrir Greyback is doing,” Remus pressed, careful still to keep his body language deferential. “He’s trying to raise an army. He turns children deliberately, so he can be the one to take them into his pack and turn their minds as well. And all the while he’s drawing more followers thanks to Voldemort’s empty promises of power for werewolves. Voldemort will never give werewolves power. He’ll only use us to perform his savagery, then cast us aside. So doesn’t this conflict concern us?”  
  
“Greyback is a monster,” Alpha said, his deep voice still implacable. “He gives every werewolf a bad name. But simply because Greyback has chosen one side in this wizarding war, it does not stand to reason that I must choose the other.”  
  
“And you see no appeal in fighting for rights for werewolves from within wizarding society, rather than staying outside it?”  
  
“I don’t peg you for a fool, Quiet,” the Alpha said, turning that intense gaze on Remus again. “But sometimes you talk like one.”  
  
Remus made one last try, keeping his tone as quiet and submissive as possible. “I know it sounds naïve. Believe me, I know well how slow wizarding society is to change its prejudices. But surely there’s a better way than living apart from society entirely, always on the edge of hunger and the cold winter. You’re a reasonable man –”  
  
The Alpha growled low in his throat. “I am not a man. Do not mistake me for one.”  
  
Remus felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. “Forgive me, Alpha,” he said, lowering his head as far as he could do without toppling forward out of his crouched position. “I meant no insult.”  
  
“The problem with you, City Wolf,” the Alpha said, leaning forward from his seat on the stump until he loomed over Remus, “is that you don’t know what you are. You are no more a man than I am. You are a wolf. I don’t blame you for your confusion, having lived long among humans as you have done. But you won’t be much use to anyone until you know who you are.”  
  
Remus kept his head down, waiting for permission to move or speak.  
  
“You may go,” the Alpha said. It was not cold or dismissive, simply a statement of fact.  
  
“Thank you, Alpha.” Remus stood, keeping his eyes carefully downcast, and stepped away.  
  
There was storytelling around the campfire that night. Ashmita had been right: As the cold set in, the pack drew closer together. Nearly every evening, little Joy begged for a story, and even the adults listened spellbound to old Anna’s lyrical voice as she wove tales handed down through generations of werewolves.  
  
This particular night, the Alpha himself requested a story, an old one that everyone in the pack clearly knew well: the tale of The Wolf Who Thought He Was a Man. Remus listened, knowing the message was meant for him.  
  
– – – – –  
  
On her third night of watching the bookshop, Tonks’ patience paid off.  
  
She’d finished her daytime Auror duties and come straight to the bookshop, taking up her position in the shadows behind the building as it closed for the evening and casting a warming charm around herself to stave off the chill. She’d just slipped the Extendable Ear under the door when she heard something through it for the first time: the unmistakable sound of footfalls. From the sound of it, two people had walked into the back room of the shop.  
  
Tonks slid effortlessly into the heightened state of focus that delicate Auror work required. She touched the Extendable Ear to make sure it was seated securely in her own ear, then reached into the inner pocket of her robes, pulled out a small vial and unstoppered it. With her other hand, she brought the tip of her wand to the listening end of the Extendable Ear and whispered the first incantation, the one that would make sound hang in the air like smoke, solid enough to capture.  
  
All she needed now was for someone to utter an incriminating statement.  
  
From the sound of it, the two people inside were opening some kind of crate or box. Then one of them, a man, said, “I don’t like it, having contraband here. We’ve had this stuff far too long. When are they coming to get it?”  
  
Tonks’ stomach clenched with eagerness and she gripped her wand tightly.  
  
“Tomorrow, supposedly,” the other man grunted, shifting something heavy as he spoke. Tonks thought it sounded like the proprietor himself, the nervous man with the moustache. “In the evening, after we close. That’s what the message said.”  
  
There, an unambiguous statement of time and place – and that crucial word “contraband,” too. Tonks whispered the final capturing incantation and watched avidly as the visible sound whooshed into the vial, turning the air inside it opaque. Quivering with excitement, Tonks stoppered the vial.  
  
She now had the evidence she needed.  
  
Not wanting to call attention to her presence through even the subtle movement of the Extendable Ear slipping back out of the room, Tonks waited there in the shadows until the two men had left the shop, after they’d finished checking their contraband and refastening the lid of the crate in which it was stored. Only once they were gone, exiting the shop through the front, did Tonks carefully reel the Extendable Ear back in and stow it in her inside pocket along with the precious vial of captured speech.  
  
She checked her watch and was elated to see it was still early evening, not at all too late for an impromptu visit to the Burrow. Tonks closed her eyes, clutched one hand over the evidence safe inside her pocket, and spun.  
  
She landed just outside the border of the protective spells that surrounded the Weasley home and fairly ran through the garden to the back kitchen door. “Wotcher!” Tonks called, knocking eagerly. “It’s me, Tonks, Metamorphmagus, Hufflepuff, er…I don’t know. Ask me a security question.”  
  
“What’s your favourite kind of biscuit?” came Molly’s voice from inside the door.  
  
Tonks smiled. “Butterscotch. With those amazing little toffee nibs you put in them.”  
  
Molly opened the door, ushered Tonks inside and enfolded her a hug. Then she held Tonks out at arm’s length and looked her over critically. “If you’re back so soon, I imagine it means you have evidence you want to show Arthur.”  
  
“Got it in one, Molly. Is he home?”  
  
“I’ll just get him, dear. Have a seat.”  
  
Tonks took the evidence vial carefully from her pocket and set it on the kitchen table. Then she shrugged out of her cloak, narrowly avoiding knocking a stack of plates off the table with her elbow, and leaned against the worktop, too excited to sit down.  
  
Arthur was in the kitchen within a minute, looking eager despite the caution he himself had urged on her. “Hello, Tonks. What have you got for me, then?”  
  
Tonks grinned, leaning forward to pick up the vial and hold it aloft triumphantly. “Captured sound in which a man inside the bookshop clearly mentions contraband, as well as the fact that ‘they’ are coming tomorrow evening after the shop closes to pick it up.”  
  
She pressed the vial into Arthur’s hand and he gazed down at it, an assessing look on his face. “Do I even want to know how you got close enough to them to hear this?”  
  
“If you have to ask, then probably not.”  
  
“Did it involve breaking and entering?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Good enough for me, I suppose.” But he still frowned.  
  
“Come on, Arthur,” Tonks said. “I know for a fact that you went on less than this when you raided the Malfoys’ place based on Harry’s tip. Whereas that’s hard evidence you’ve got in your hand there.”  
  
“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Arthur assured her. “I’m just thinking how we should best do this. Tomorrow evening someone’s coming to pick it up, you say? That means my department can get our contraband, and you and the Aurors potentially catch a Death Eater. Sounds like a win for everyone.”  
  
“I can get the Aurors on board by tomorrow evening, if you’ll coordinate from your side.” Tonks said, giddy excitement rising in her chest.  
  
They stayed a while longer, hammering out a plan. Then Arthur took the evidence vial and Tonks returned to Hogsmeade, to unapologetically rouse Dawlish and Savage at their flat, and Proudfoot on his duty rounds, to inform them they would be conducting a raid the next night.  
  
“I’ll go down to London first thing in the morning and get Robards to sign off on the plan,” was Savage’s response. “Shouldn’t be a problem. He’s eager for a win, something we can show Scrimgeour.”  
  
Tonks resented, thoroughly, the unspoken implication that Savage should be the one to go down to London and present the plan to Robards, because their supervisor would be more likely to listen to Savage than Tonks – even though the whole thing had been her idea and her legwork. The Aurors were such an old boys’ club sometimes. But she let it slide this time, in the interest of making sure this raid happened.  
  
And so it was that the next evening found four Aurors, Arthur Weasley and three of his staff taking up position around the bookseller’s shop as dusk fell.  
  
They didn’t have to wait long. Barely ten minutes after the shop’s official closing time, a man in a hooded cloak Apparated into the narrow alley behind the building, mere feet from where Tonks and Dawlish stood, hidden in the shadows and Disillusioned. The man rapped three times at the shop’s back door.  
  
Tonks shook her head at Dawlish, cautioning him that they should wait – entering a business after hours was not a crime, but leaving it with contraband was – and he lifted his chin to show he understood and agreed.  
  
The door opened and the hooded man stepped inside.  
  
They waited.  
  
The door opened again and now two men came out, carrying between them what looked to be a heavy trunk.  
  
“Drop your wands!” Dawlish shouted, as he and Tonks stepped in front of the two suspects, Savage and Proudfoot running in to join from the other side. “Put down the trunk and drop your wands!”  
  
The trunk thumped to the ground, followed by the clatter of two wands as the men raised their hands in the air. Savage secured them both with a Binding Spell. As soon they were safely disarmed and bound, he signalled Arthur and his team, who came pounding up the alley and burst into the shop, Savage following them as back-up.  
  
Dawlish spun the two bound men around to face them. As he did so, the hood slipped off the man who had entered the shop a few minutes before, revealing a young, peaked and very confused-looking face.  
  
Tonks’ heart sank.  
  
“ _Damn_ it,” she cursed. “I don’t think that’s a Death Eater.”  
  
The young man who was almost certainly not a Death Eater was progressing rapidly from baffled to terrified. “I don’t understand,” he said, voice shaking. “I’m just picking up these books like I was told to do. I haven’t done anything wrong.”  
  
Tonks reached out and pushed the man’s left sleeve up his arm – no Dark Mark.  
  
“Imperiused, or at least Confunded,” Dawlish said, keeping his eyes trained on the two men.  
  
“Just like Death Eaters not to risk their own necks, but let someone else take the fall,” Tonks agreed bitterly. She turned to the other man, the Dodgy Bookseller himself, the one whose nervous behaviour when she’d first interviewed him had set this whole operation in motion. “How about you? You going to claim you have no idea what’s in that trunk?”  
  
“I was asked to store this for a friend,” the man said stiffly. “I do not know what it contains.” A light rain was now spitting down on the odd group assembled there in the alley.  
  
Savage came back out the shop’s back door. “All clear inside,” he said. “Weasley and his team are securing the rest of the evidence. Let’s have a look inside this one, shall we?” He crouched down in front of the trunk, examined the lock, then tapped it with his wand and muttered. The lid sprang open and Savage whistled. “Not bad, Tonks,” he called, and waved her over to look.  
  
The trunk was full to its brim with Dark artefacts. There were also little paper packets that looked the right size to contain potions ingredients, as well as some very suspicious-looking jewellery. It was a treasure trove of exactly the sorts of things one _didn’t_ want ending up in Death Eater hands. They’d done well to intercept it, and this would certainly rate as a success for Arthur and his division.  
  
And yet…  
  
“We didn’t get the Death Eater,” Tonks said, straightening up from the crate.  
  
“But we got his minions, here,” Dawlish said, pointing at the men in front of them. “Robards will be pleased enough with that.”  
  
Robards might be, but Tonks wasn’t. What was the point of it, if they didn’t catch the Death Eaters who were behind this? They would just move on and use some other hapless person’s shop to store their goods.  
  
“Who’s the other man in on this?” Tonks asked the bookseller.  
  
He glared back at her. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
“There’s another man who was in here with you last night, who also knows you’re hiding this stuff. We both know he was here. And I _will_ find out who he is.”  
  
She still had the captured sound of the two men’s voices. Maybe they could identify the other man from that.  
  
Arthur and one of his team members appeared at the door, another trunk between them. “Here’s the second, and there’s a third one coming out,” Arthur said. “Then that’s the lot of it. Thank you for the tip-off, Auror Tonks. This is more than we’ve seized all autumn.”  
  
“You’re welcome, Weasley,” Tonks said automatically.  
  
Arthur’s two other team members emerged from the building with the third trunk and set it down beside the other two.  
  
Dawlish nodded at them. “You lot can head out. We’ll see you at the Ministry anyway, when we take these two suspects in. Need a hand with those trunks?”  
  
Arthur shook his head. “Thanks anyway. We’ve got it.” He nodded to his team, who took hold of the handles of the trunks, then Disapparated all together.  
  
The four Aurors looked at each other.  
  
“I’ll stay and cover Hogsmeade,” Proudfoot said.  
  
Savage nodded, then turned to Tonks and Dawlish. “I’ll take point,” he said. Dawlish cast a last binding spell, linking the two suspects together, then took hold of the young man’s right arm. Tonks took the bookseller’s left arm. Savage raised his hand, gripped Tonks’ shoulder, and Apparated all five of them to the Ministry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The werewolf pack:
> 
> the Alpha, a male in his 40s, the pack’s leader  
> Anna, or the Mother, the oldest pack member, symbolic mother of all  
> Brighid, or Fire, the Alpha’s mate, roughly his age  
> Serena, or Trouble, roughly Remus’ age  
> Jack, or Thunderstorm, a little younger than the Alpha, Ashmita’s mate  
> Ashmita, or Rock Crag, Jack’s mate  
> Ronan, or Hardwood, young adult member of the pack, perhaps 20  
> Narun, or Rapids, roughly the same age  
> Adair, or Jump, roughly the same age  
> Tamara, or Blackthorn, roughly the same age  
> Eirwen, or Slither, a young teenager, 13 or 14  
> Joy, or River Run, the pack’s youngest member, 6 or 7


	9. From Different Angles

  
  
_But all these illusions strip and fall_  
 _And he is just a man after all_  
  
_–Patti Scialfa, Spanish Dancer_  
  
  
By one o’clock in the morning, after several go-rounds in a Ministry interrogation room with Tonks and Savage and Dawlish all taking turns with their suspect, they still weren’t getting anywhere. All they’d really managed to establish was that the bookseller – his name was Jacobs – was not going to give up the name of his confederate, the second man Tonks had heard in the back room of the bookshop with him the other night. Probably a family member, from the tenacity with which Jacobs was protecting him.  
  
The younger man they’d also caught, the one who’d presumably been sent in the Death Eaters’ stead, had been questioned and placed in an overnight holding cell, but Tonks doubted the charges against him would stick. It was beyond obvious that he’d been Confunded and had no idea what he was doing – nor, unfortunately, any idea who’d told him to do it.  
  
He couldn’t even tell them where he was meant to deliver the trunks they’d seized. He was simply supposed to collect the goods, then whoever had Confunded him would come find him. Which was no longer going to happen, of course, now that the man was in Auror custody. The Death Eaters behind this shipment of contraband were in the wind.  
  
As for Jacobs, somewhere in the depths of the night, with all three Aurors running on stale Ministry coffee and thin hope, they managed to hammer out an agreement. The Ministry would drop all suspicions concerning the second man Tonks had heard in the bookshop with him, and in exchange, Jacobs would tell them everything he knew.  
  
Jacobs did give up as much information as he could, but it didn’t amount to much. Someone had sent an anonymous letter, he said, informing him that a convenient storage space in Hogsmeade was needed, and he should stay late at his shop on a particular night to accept a delivery. He would then be required to hold this delivery until the unknown correspondent was ready to pick it up. Not very subtle threats to his family were made, should he fail to comply with this “request.”  
  
On the appointed night, a wizard with a “foreign accent” ( _Yeah, thanks, very helpful and specific_ , Tonks thought, her brain fuzzy with frustration and bad coffee) had arrived with three trunks, one after another, then disappeared again. A final letter, delivered by owl, had told the bookseller the date and time when the trunks would be picked up. No, Jacobs admitted, he hadn’t saved the letters, for fear they would incriminate him.  
  
Which left them with a seller about whom nothing was known beyond his unspecified “foreign accent,” and a buyer who was most likely a Death Eater, but whom they had no way to locate.  
  
Still, the higher-ups were happy. Tonks and her colleagues got a metaphorical pat on the back from Robards when he showed up at the Ministry, having been alerted by Savage, and another from Minister Scrimgeour when he arrived in the morning. And Savage and Dawlish were happy, because the higher-ups were happy.  
  
Apparently, Tonks was the only one who didn’t think catching everyone _but_ the Death Eater constituted a “win.”  
  
Bone-tired, with reams of completed paperwork behind her and a sluggish, grey dawn now breaking, Tonks stumbled after Savage towards the bank of Floo portals in the Ministry Atrium. It was just the two of them now, Dawlish having headed back to Hogsmeade after they’d reached the deal with Jacobs, so he would be ready to take the daytime patrol shift in the village. As Tonks and Savage headed for the outgoing Floo, Ministry employees were already streaming through the incoming fires to report to work for the day.  
  
Savage paused in front of the outgoing Floo and turned to Tonks. He cleared his throat and said, with an uncharacteristic flash of emotional intelligence, “I know you’re disappointed we didn’t get the big fish, Tonks, but it’s not always bursting into the Department of Mysteries after hours to capture eleven Death Eaters in one go. Sometimes it’s the smugglers and the middlemen. But even a small win is still a win.”  
  
Tonks nodded. She did know that. Patience was an Auror virtue she was still learning.  
  
“You did good work tonight,” Savage said, clapping her on the back. “We wouldn’t have caught this one without you.”  
  
Tonks nodded again. “Thanks.”  
  
Savage nodded back, brusque again. “You first.”  
  
Tonks took a pinch of Floo powder from the enormous jug beside the fireplace, said, “Savage and Dawlish’s flat, Hogsmeade,” then stepped into the fire and let it carry her away.  
  
– – – – –  
  
It wasn’t until she awoke that afternoon, the sun already edging down towards the hills around the village, that Tonks thought of Ariadne and how she’d been asking about visiting Tonks in Hogsmeade sometime. The bookseller business had left Tonks too busy to even think about anything as normal as visits with friends, but now it struck her forcefully how welcome a little normality might be. Feeling like she was swimming through a half-awake world, Tonks stumbled over to the Post Office and sent a note inviting Ariadne to come up at the weekend.  
  
She hadn’t bothered to connect her tiny Hogsmeade flat to the Floo Network, so on Saturday morning Tonks waited for Ariadne by the public fire at Three Broomsticks. She’d managed to arrange a rare day entirely off, and having so much free time felt sort of strange, like she’d been carrying around something heavy for so long that she didn’t know what to do with her arms now that they were empty. The adrenalin high of her investigation had dropped away, leaving Tonks feeling heavy and bleak.  
  
Ariadne stepped out of the pub’s fireplace with grin and a whiff of London air about her, dark blonde hair flying around her face. “Wotcher, Tonks!” she said cheerfully, brushing a dusting of Floo powder from her nose. “You know, ‘How shall we spend our Hogsmeade weekend’ is not a phrase I ever thought I’d have cause to say again, but here I am.”  
  
Ariadne chattered cheerfully as they left the pub and started strolling up the high street. Within minutes, though, her brow was furrowing. “Was Hogsmeade always this grim and I just didn’t notice?”  
  
Tonks paused on the pavement to fasten her cloak more tightly. The days, too, were growing chilly. “You’re not imagining it. Everybody’s scared and keeping out of sight. Same as in Diagon Alley.”  
  
“I guess I don’t notice the bleakness in Diagon Alley because I’ve got used to it.” Ariadne said, then winced. “I can’t believe I just said that. The only thing worse than things being terrible is getting _used to_ them being terrible.”  
  
Tonks saw Ariadne frown again as they passed the boarded-up shopfront of Zonko’s. When they went by Scrivenshaft’s, the friendly young assistant was out front, arranging the display tables. Scrivenshaft’s was one of the few shops in the village still making an effort to look busy and welcoming. The shop assistant gave them a wave and a cheery, “Hullo!”  
  
“Merlin’s pants!” Ariadne hissed at Tonks, grabbing her arm as soon as they were out of the shop assistant’s earshot. “He _likes_ you!”  
  
“What? No!”  
  
“Seriously, how can it be that in this tiny village, you’ve already got at least one bloke who fancies you like mad?”  
  
“What – he’s not – Ariadne, come _on_ , that’s ridiculous!”  
  
But Ariadne kept up her teasing all along the high street until she finally got Tonks to admit that yeah, okay, she’d noticed the bloke at Scrivenshaft’s did always seem keen to chat when she came by.  
  
“See?” Ariadne gloated, and Tonks rolled her eyes and agreed that yes, yes, Ariadne was very clever and perceptive, and they both laughed and dropped the topic.  
  
They were passing Dervish & Banges near the outskirts of the village when Ariadne said in a different tone, “So…speaking of which…I’ve met somebody.”  
  
It took Tonks a moment to get it. “Oh,” she said. “ _Oh_! You’ve _met_ somebody. Like, a bloke.” Tonks glanced over and saw that Ariadne was smiling softly.  
  
“His name’s Damien,” she said. “You know how we used to joke that someday the perfect guy would walk into the Archives with a research question he needed me to answer? Well…he did.”  
  
“Oh, Ariadne!” Tonks felt a rush of emotion for her friend. “You look happy. You’re happy?”  
  
“Yeah,” Ariadne said, a slow, sweet smile spreading across her face. “I am. I’d like you to meet him sometime.”  
  
“Of course!” Tonks said. “Can’t wait.”  
  
They looped back through the side lanes to the centre of the village, Tonks’ mind whirring all the while, hardly aware now of the cold and the boarded-up shops. Ariadne had a bloke in her life. Ariadne was newly in love. Tonks was thrilled for her friend and also…she couldn’t quite place what this other sensation was.  
  
Oh. On closer inspection, it seemed to be something an awful lot like jealousy.  
  
_Jealousy_? Nymphadora Tonks? She’d never been jealous of anyone in her life, at least not over a bloke, and she didn’t care to start the habit now. _Apparently this is what being in love does to me,_ she thought mournfully, and she was so depressed by the thought that she didn’t even bother to correct herself on the “in love” part of it.  
  
Tonks scowled at herself and determined to put this uncomfortably envious feeling firmly out of her mind.  
  
Over pasties and butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, Tonks told Ariadne as much as she dared about her work. “So we made two arrests,” she concluded, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “And I ought to be glad – the higher-ups certainly think any arrest is a good arrest – but the thing is, these are not the people we’re trying to get. One was Confunded; the other was coerced into his role. But I have an awful feeling the Ministry is going to keep holding them, just to look like we’re doing _something_. You know they’ve still got Stan Shunpike?”  
  
“The bloke they arrested from the Knight Bus?”  
  
Tonks nodded. “It’s been over a month and he’s still in custody, even though I’m certain he was Imperiused. I mean, I didn’t interview him myself, but all the signs are there. And now we’ve got another gormless young bloke who let himself get Confunded into fetching a delivery of Dark objects for Death Eaters, and it’s the same thing all over again.”  
  
Tonks shoved her butterbeer bottle away from her in annoyance, then had to Summon a serviette to mop up what she’d spilled.  
  
She grumbled, “And Robards keeps hinting we should keep a closer eye on Dumbledore. Any day now, he’s going to outright ask us to put a tail on him. ‘Cause _that’s_ a great use of Ministry resources, trying to outsmart the cleverest wizard of the century.” She groaned. “Ugh, stop me, or I’ll keep banging on about work forever. Seriously, let’s talk about absolutely _anything_ else.”  
  
Tonks saw Ariadne’s glance flick up to Tonks’ mousy hair, then down again.  
  
“Er…” Ariadne said. “Totally indelicate question, but …your hair? It was like that when I saw you before you left London, too, but I wasn’t sure…”  
  
Tonks glowered at the tabletop. She hated admitting this, even to Ariadne. “I’ve been having trouble changing it. Started over the summer.”  
  
“Oh,” said Ariadne. She sounded shocked. “Since…since Sirius?”  
  
Tonks slid her half-empty butterbeer back and forth through a puddle of condensation that had formed on the tabletop. “Yeah, I guess. And then so much horrible stuff happened all at once, so many deaths, and Remus leaving… I didn’t think you had to be happy in order to exercise an innate ability like Metamorphmagism, but there you go.”  
  
Ariadne made a pained noise in her throat. “It just seems so weird to me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go a whole day without at least doing funny noses or something. Er…sorry. That was about the least helpful comment ever.”  
  
Tonks shrugged. “Well, but it’s true. Believe me, it’s weird to me, too.”  
  
Ariadne was frowning again, like she’d done on the boarded-up high street. “And what about Remus? Have you heard anything from him?”  
  
Tonks shook her head. “It’s not like I was expecting to, though. He’s on a delicate mission, he can’t have outside contact.”  
  
“But couldn’t he still find a way to get a message to you if he wanted to…?”  
  
“He _doesn’t_ want to,” Tonks snapped. Then she grimaced in apology, because of course Ariadne wasn’t the one she was cross with. “When he left, he didn’t even say goodbye. He sent me a _note_.”  
  
A whole year’s worth of feeling between them, and Remus thought he could tie it all up neatly with a couple of lines jotted on parchment. Tonks was getting angry all over again just thinking about it.  
  
She looked up to see Ariadne studying her.  
  
“Do you have a broom here?” Ariadne asked abruptly.  
  
“I – what?”  
  
“I think what we need to do right now is find some brooms and go flying. No more work, no more politics, definitely no more lame blokes who can’t seem to understand how fantastic you are. Let’s find some brooms and go flying. Right now.”  
  
Tonks stared at Ariadne, then she said fervently, “ _Yes_. I’ve got a broom and I know we can find another one somewhere for you to borrow so yes, please.”  
  
Ariadne nodded decisively and downed the rest of her drink. Then they both stood up and went to find Ariadne a broom, and gave over the rest of the afternoon to the rush of flying and cold wind and the ground falling away beneath them. Tonks, gratefully, took the gift of a day where she didn’t have to think or plan or worry, but could just _be_ , under the wide, pale autumn sky.  
  
– – – – –  
  
“Admit it, Quiet,” Serena said. “You enjoy the full moons with us.”  
  
They were sitting side by side with their backs resting against the outside of the lean-to wall. Ostensibly both Remus and Serena were taking a turn today staying with elderly Anna, whom the pack never left on her own. But Anna had retired inside the lean-to to rest, leaving little they needed to do for her beyond simply staying nearby.  
  
“I can see it,” Serena went on. “You relax a little more after each full moon.”  
  
Remus had never been particularly concerned with this being-in-tune-with-nature aspect of the full moons that Serena and the others valued so highly. But even Remus had to admit that after each of the three full moons he had now spent with the pack, here with others of his own kind and open space in which to run, he’d woken the next morning feeling calmer and in less pain than he could remember after a full moon in a long time. If he was being truly honest with himself, he knew he’d last experienced anything comparable in the days when he’d run in the Forbidden Forest with his own personal pack of Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail.  
  
Softly, Serena said, “Werewolves aren’t meant to be alone. It can’t come as a surprise to you that you would enjoy the time spent in your wolf body more with us than alone.”  
  
_Enjoy_ was a strong word for it, Remus thought. Survive, yes. Tolerate, perhaps. But full moons and “enjoyment” were not concepts Remus expected ever to be able to unite fully within his mind. But he was trying to keep the tone of their conversation light; he was glad Serena deigned to talk to him these days, and hoped to keep things that way. So he only said, “That may be, but it’s hard for me to know, when I don’t remember any of it afterwards.”  
  
“I could teach you that,” Serena said. She said it in a surprisingly serious tone, and Remus heard in it faint reverberations of further promises contained within that offer: He could stay here. He could make the effort to learn the ways of the pack and become a true member, pulling his fair weight and following their traditions. He could choose to belong here.  
  
The thought was both tempting and terrifying.  
  
“Thank you for the offer,” he said politely, “but for now I’ll stick to what I know. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks and all that.”  
  
Serena shrugged and said nothing. Remus knew how flimsy his excuse sounded.  
  
He cast a cautious glance at Serena beside him. They had an entire afternoon with nothing to do but talk, and Serena had warmed to him lately, a little. Perhaps it was time to attempt a deeper conversation. “I’m curious,” he said softly. “Would you mind telling me your story? How you came to be in this pack?”  
  
“I’ve told you before.” she said, her tone flat. “I escaped from my family and found my way to the pack.”  
  
“Yes, but how did you find them? How did you even know where to look?” Remus himself had had to do considerable research to discover the current locations of Europe’s werewolf packs, naturally secretive as they were. And he was an adult with time and resources at his disposal, not a desperate, frightened teenager.  
  
Serena shrugged. “People talk, so I always kept my ears open about that kind of thing, just in case I ever got the chance to run. There were rumours of werewolves on the moors – the pack was much further south, then, around North Yorkshire – so when I finally escaped, that’s where I went. I spent that whole first month wandering around on my own, half-starving. It wasn’t until the next full moon, when my senses were better and my legs could run faster, that I was able to find the pack.”  
  
Remus stared at her in astonishment. And he’d thought his first months navigating Hogwarts had been a difficult trial for a young, lone werewolf. “That’s incredible,” he said, not disguising the wonder in his voice. “That you were able to survive out here on your own for so long, and find your way to a pack.”  
  
Serena shrugged again. “That’s how it happens for most kids whose families throw them out. Or who escape from them.”  
  
“And Joy? River, I mean?” Remus ventured, trying to tread very gently now. “How did she end up here, if you don’t mind my asking?”  
  
Serena stared out into the trees. “She’s my sister’s kid,” she said. Her voice had gone flat and hard. “My sister worked for the Werewolf Registry. She was one of the only good ones there, probably one of the only good ones in the whole history of that awful place. She always felt bad about what happened to me when we were kids, I suppose that’s why she chose that job. Trying to make a difference. _Ha_.” Serena’s voice twisted bitterly around that single syllable. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d met her there at some point. Irena Ash.”  
  
“Irena Ash is your sister?” Remus exclaimed. He’d always liked Ms Ash, to the extent it was possible to like anyone whilst that person was subjecting one to a humiliating government-mandated interrogation.  “Of course I’ve met her. She’s one of the few who ever treated me like a person.”  
  
“She got on Fenrir Greyback’s bad side,” Serena said, her voice low and her hands tight in her lap. “He was probably pushing her to bend some law for him, I don’t know what. Or maybe he wanted her to give him names from the Registry, easy targets for him to recruit for his pack. Whatever it was he wanted, Irena refused him – she wasn’t that kind of person, she was _never_ that kind of person, she would never give in to a bully – so on the full moon before the spring equinox, the year before this one, he attacked. He killed Irena and turned her daughter. Joy, as she was called then.”  
  
“I’m so sorry.” The words were tiny, ineffectual things that clanged hollowly against the enormity of her loss. Though they changed nothing, Remus said them again. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
Serena didn’t look at him, but Remus could see even in profile how her face twisted with anger. “And her husband, that piece of scum unfit to walk this Earth, tried to pretend everything was normal. Told everyone Irena had died in an accident, how _very_ sad. And he said Joy was sick, and kept her shut up in the house so no one would find out what had happened. He was disgusted by her.” Serena spat on the ground.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Remus said again, helplessly.  
  
“So I took her away,” Serena said, steel in her voice now. “As soon as I heard, I went and found her and got her away. And I brought her here to join the pack.”  
  
“You have legal custody of her?” Remus asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.  
  
“No.”  
  
“But what of her father? Surely he misses her, despite everything? Surely she misses the family she knew before?” _And what about school, and learning to use her magic?_ he wanted to ask, though he knew where Serena stood on that question.  
  
“ _This_ is her family,” Serena said fiercely. “A werewolf has only one true family, and that’s the pack.”  
  
In a carefully neutral tone, Remus said, “You mentioned once that werewolves can’t bear children. Is that true? I’d heard it before, but it’s often hard to know what to believe. There’s so much misinformation, among humans.”  
  
With the change in topic, Serena finally glanced at him again. “Female werewolves can’t,” she said. “The change every full moon is too much, a baby can’t develop through that. You, I suppose, could do what you want. But what human woman’s going to go in for _that_ experiment?”  
  
Remus wasn’t sure what she saw in his face, or thought she saw, but whatever it was caused Serena to drop her eyes and murmur, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”  
  
What was it she thought she had learned from Remus’ expression? That he had cared for a human woman who’d left him when she learned the truth about Remus’ illness? Well, yes, that had also happened in his life, but long enough ago now that it barely stung.  
  
The truth, though there was no way for Serena to know it, was precisely the opposite: Remus had had the love of an extraordinary woman, someone who had willingly “gone in for the experiment,” as Serena had put it, of life with a werewolf… And Remus was the one who had thrown it away.  
  
For good reasons, of course. And he would do the same again.  
  
That didn’t make it easier.  
  
They sat in silence for a long time after that, both immersed in their thoughts. Later, Joy came hopping into the camp, swinging between the hands of Jack and Ashmita. She dove into Serena’s lap for a hug, then scampered into the lean-to to pester Anna for a story. Watching her go, Remus did wonder if Serena was right on the whole. Might this indeed be a better place for a child like Joy to grow up, surrounded by an extended adoptive family who loved her for who she was, rather than who she could never again be?  
  
As if the day weren’t already full enough of strange revelations, that evening young Ronan came and sat down next to Remus as they all settled around the fire to share roasted chunks of the rabbit Adair and Narun had caught that day. Ronan didn’t look at Remus, merely dropped down onto a low rock next to him with the awkward shyness of an adolescent trying to appear nonchalant. But there was no mistaking that he had sat next to Remus by choice.  
  
Would wonders never cease.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that female werewolves can't have children comes from fernwithy and shimotsuki – I remember reading it in stories by both of them, but shimotsuki credits it to fernwithy. (Remember that I started writing this story before Pottermore existed, so it's not compatible with JKR's latterday additions about werewolves! These are all pre-Pottermore headcanons.)
> 
>  
> 
> Also! the first of the stories I wrote for this year's [rt_morelove](http://rt-morelove.livejournal.com/) Remus/Tonks fic writing event is now also posted here on AO3: "[Waiting for the Snow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5860888)"! It's about Teddy (and Victoire), but with lots of mentions of Remus and Tonks. 
> 
> The other story I wrote for rt_morelove isn't posted yet but will be soon; it's called "Ain't Misbehavin'" and it's about Remus and Tonks solving a minor mystery and getting up to mischief (and romance) at the Auror Christmas party. :-)
> 
> (So if you needed some fluffy moments to counteract all the heaviness of this HBP-era story...)
> 
>  
> 
> And again, for your handy reference, the werewolf pack:
> 
> the Alpha, a male in his 40s, the pack’s leader  
> Anna, or the Mother, the oldest pack member, symbolic mother of all  
> Brighid, or Fire, the Alpha’s mate, roughly his age  
> Serena, or Trouble, roughly Remus’ age  
> Jack, or Thunderstorm, a little younger than the Alpha, Ashmita’s mate  
> Ashmita, or Rock Crag, Jack’s mate  
> Ronan, or Hardwood, young adult member of the pack, perhaps 20  
> Narun, or Rapids, roughly the same age  
> Adair, or Jump, roughly the same age  
> Tamara, or Blackthorn, roughly the same age  
> Eirwen, or Slither, a young teenager, 13 or 14  
> Joy, or River Run, the pack’s youngest member, 6 or 7


	10. Samhain Night

_I am lonely as a memory_  
_Despite the gathering round the fire_  
   
_–Lisa Hannigan, Little Bird_  
   
   
Though the air was growing crisper and colder by the day, Remus didn’t realise Halloween was almost upon them, until one morning the pack were gathered in the lean-to eating their ever more meagre breakfast and Ashmita commented, “Samhain tonight. Looks to be lovely clear weather for it.”  
   
Remus nearly choked on his hard, dark bread.  
   
Samhain. In other words, Halloween.  
   
“Samhain!” Joy cheered. “I love Samhain!”  
   
Serena smiled and leaned over to tug gently on one of the tiny plaits that covered Joy’s head in neat rows. “Do you even remember Samhain, Little One? It was a whole year ago.”  
   
“Of course I do! There’s a big, big bonfire, like at Beltane, and we have a feast, and the spirits of everyone we’ve loved come and share it with us. And we have meat and nuts and apples and cider, and you let me try the cider, even though cider is for grown-up werewolves.”  
   
Serena chuckled and shared a glance with the other adults, who looked similarly charmed by Joy’s enthusiasm.  
   
Remus, though, was struggling to stay present there in the chilly lean-to, with a bit of dry bread in his hand. Tonight would be Halloween, the anniversary of James and Lily’s death. The night when Remus had catastrophically failed to keep his friends safe.  
   
He kept his eyes on the bare dirt floor of the lean-to and reminded himself to breathe.  
   
Remus vividly remembered the year before, marking this night with Sirius in the basement kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place, both of them getting quietly, viciously plastered on Firewhisky, both still and forever blaming themselves.  
   
Well. This year’s Halloween was one Sirius wouldn’t have to suffer through. Remus could almost envy him for that.  
   
And yet, despite everything, Remus found he didn’t wish that for himself, not even now, as his body clenched in anticipation of the pain of another Halloween. For better or worse, Remus was still here.  
   
The pack spent the day in a flurry of preparatory activity, happily calling out to each other as they went about the work of preparing for the celebration. Remus performed the tasks assigned to him with grim determination, keeping his attention resolutely fixed on the work of his hands as the hours crawled agonisingly by. And all the while, the sharp thrust of grief was in his chest, pressing in on his lungs, stealing his ability to draw breath.  
   
James and Lily were dead. Sirius was dead. And Remus, for reasons unfathomable, for nothing he had ever done to deserve either the gift or the pain of it, was the last one standing.  
   
No one here could understand the depth of that grief, or share in carrying the crushing weight of Remus’ loss. No one here had known James or Lily or Sirius, or could fathom just how much they had meant the world to Remus.  
   
The sun sank to the horizon, tinting the frost-edged contours of the moor with bloody hues of pink and red. Jack and Ashmita put the finishing touches to an enormous pyre they had laid on the open moor some paces away from the grove of trees, then Brighid bent down close to the kindling at its base and set the bonfire alight. All the pack gathered around, the dancing flames casting eerie shapes and shadows across their faces in the dark. The night air was rich with the tang of wood smoke.  
   
It was a selfish thing to think, here amidst the pack that had been so generous to him in sharing their food and shelter, but Remus would have preferred to spend this terrible night alone. If there was to be no one left who could share his grief, then Remus would rather bear it in solitude. He was good, adept in fact, at getting through life on his own. He was used to that sort of loneliness. But nothing was quite so lonely as to be alone in the middle of a crowd.  
   
But once again, the pack surprised him.  
   
Some small, cynical part of Remus – the part that was sick to death of sleeping on the cold ground, sick of waking up with a perpetually running nose, sick of wondering in what possible world it made sense for a group of otherwise reasonable people to be planning to spend an entire winter outdoors on the moor, exposed to the elements – that part had wondered what could be so special about a Samhain bonfire. After all, they had a fire every night, now that the weather had grown cold. How different would this one really be?  
   
But the sceptical part was now proved wrong.  
   
The bonfire towered above them, shooting sparks high into the night sky. Anna was singing, an ancient incantation that seemed to swell up from somewhere deep in her throat, the melody mournful and strange. The pack swayed as they listened, their bodies attuned to the Mother’s song.  
   
The fire was so large, Remus wondered why no one seemed worried that Muggles even as far away as the nearest village might see the light and come to investigate its source. Then he remembered Anna earlier that day making her way in a large circle around the perimeter of their camp, stoop-shouldered, her steps slow but firm, waving her hands in small, precise motions.  
   
The kinds of magic werewolves could do, given that most of them had never trained in the use of a wand, were few. But they did have magicks of their own, wandless spells that were powerful and ancient, passed down within a pack across the generations.  
   
With more time and under less tense circumstances, Remus would have loved to conduct proper research on werewolves’ magic. These spells that got passed down through generations of a werewolf pack, were they intrinsically tied to the nature of being a Dark creature? Or might normal witches and wizards be able to perform these ancient spells too, if they hadn’t allowed the more traditional forms of magic to slip out of cultural memory as wizarding society modernised? These types of magic were studied so infrequently, because of humans’ prejudice and fear.  
   
Anna’s song ended and the energy of the group shifted, from reverential to celebratory. The younger ones dragged over stumps and sections of log and arranged them around the fire to provide everyone with a place to sit. Meanwhile, the adults laid out a feast on a large, flattish log to form a bizarre outdoor buffet.  
   
There was heavy, dark bread that Ashmita and Jack had baked themselves, having gained one-time overnight access to a bakery in one of the villages through some sort of bartered deal, the details of which Remus grasped only vaguely.  
   
There were fresh, crisp apples, fragrant herbs, roasted potatoes, carrots, nuts, and a vast quantity of smoked meat. For days, the younger members of the pack – including Eirwen, who Remus was glad to see now being accepted among the young ones when they worked together on group tasks like these – had done nothing but hunt the small game that lived on the moor, sometimes not returning until late at night. The older members of the pack had stayed equally busy back at the camp, smoking and preserving what the younger ones caught.  
   
Now Remus understood why the pack had been in such a frenzy of food-gathering in recent days. They were carrying out crucial preparations for the coming winter, certainly. But they were also making it possible, for one night, to enjoy a glorious feast.  
   
At one end of the makeshift banquet table, there was even a small, wooden cask of ale, procured from Merlin knew where. That came as a particular surprise, since Remus had yet to see any of the pack drink.  
   
No one was touching the food yet, though. They stayed gathered around the bonfire, each face luminous in the light of the flames. Brighid was speaking now, in such a low, conversational tone that it took Remus a few moments to realise she was addressing the pack as a whole.  
   
“…the turning of the season to darkness, to winter,” Brighid was saying. “This is the dying of the year, the last of the harvest, as the days rush towards their shortest length.  
   
“On this night, alone among all nights of the year, the veils between the worlds grow thin, and those who have left us are free to walk among us once more. On other nights, we spare and save, making do with as little as we can, because we know how scarce are the riches within our reach.  
   
“But tonight, we feast. Tonight, we invite those who have left us, those whom we have loved, to join us at our humble banquet, so that we may break bread together.”  
   
Brighid paused, and the fire popped and crackled loudly in the sudden stillness. Then she said, very softly, “You may invite your dead.”  
   
Heads bowed all around the circle and Remus heard the others speaking quietly, each of them whispering names aloud.  
   
He stared, humbled at the sight of the heads bent all around him. How had he failed to consider that everyone here had surely lost loved ones, too? As werewolves, they had all seen more than their share of hardship. Anna, symbolic mother of them all, appeared to have outlived an entire generation. The Alpha, too, must have suffered his share of loss on the long path to becoming leader of this pack. Serena had lost a sister. And little Joy had lost her mother in the same vicious attack that had transformed her overnight from a normal little girl into an outcast who would likely live her whole life in the wilderness, far removed from any society but that of the pack. And those were only the stories he knew; Remus knew next to nothing of the other pack members’ lives.  
   
He had been so wrapped up in his own tragedy, he’d forgotten he was not the only one here carrying the scars of loss. Everyone here understood grief, in one form or another.  
   
So Remus, too, bowed his head and thought, _James, Lily. Sirius. Mum and Dad? Are you there?_  
   
The fire crackled but no one around it stirred, all their heads remaining bent and reverent. Remus shut his eyes and cast inside himself for the presence of the people he had loved and lost. He’d lived with their ghosts in his memory for so long, it took no effort to conjure up the sounds of their voices.  
   
Lily’s voice so often spoke the part of Remus that said things weren’t as bad as they seemed, or that he could do with taking himself a little less seriously. James was the voice that gave him courage and laughter, found humour in situations where Remus would have sworn there was none to be found. Remus’ father was often the voice of whimsy in Remus’ mind, offering up his quiet appreciation of the little details that sparkled out of everyday life like dewdrops on the grass. And Remus’ mother’s voice was the steady one that arrived when he most needed it, to tell him he could and would go on. Sometimes the memory of her voice brought with it the sensation of a gentle hand resting at the back of his neck, her gesture of calm and reassurance.  
   
Now, with his head bowed before the werewolves’ Samhain bonfire, for the first time Remus heard Sirius’ voice joining the others, as clearly as if it came straight from the heart of the fire in front of him.  
   
_Moony, you nutter_ , he seemed to hear Sirius say, a familiar bark of a laugh in his voice. _Winter outside on the moor with a bunch werewolves, seriously? You daft or what?_  
   
Apparently, in Remus’ personal pantheon of lost friends, Sirius’ voice was going to be the one that made fun of him. And that was a thought that allowed Remus to smile a small, wry smile, even on this most terrible of days.  
   
_Yes, Sirius_ , he thought _, it’s a rather daft idea, I’ll concede that. But be that as it may, I’m going to see it through._ Remus had come this far in making a life with the pack and he wasn’t going to give up now.  
   
He squeezed his eyes more tightly closed and cast deeper into his memories, picturing in sharp detail the faces of the friends he’d lost. _I don’t know that I believe the dead really walk among us at Halloween,_ Remus thought. _But if you’re out there – James, Lily, Sirius, Mum, Dad – then I invite you. Come and feast with us._  
   
The fire crackled and spit, and Remus shivered as cool night air swished soothingly across the nape of his neck. He opened his eyes with the sensation that yes, in some intangible way, the people he had loved, the ones he carried inside himself silently all the days of the year, were here with him tonight.  
   
One by one, the members of the pack raised their heads and began to talk quietly amongst themselves. Brighid declared the meal begun and they all crowded around the log where the food was laid out, to eat and drink their fill. It was only now, filling his belly to contentment, that Remus was able to admit to himself that an edge of hunger had lurked at the periphery of his awareness for months, never so acute as to be painful, but never entirely banished. Looking around in the light of the bonfire, he could see the others felt the same.  
   
Late into the night, the pack sat around the fire and told stories and jokes. Later still, a number of them raised their voices in song. It was a surprisingly merry gathering, for a night that celebrated the dead. And throughout it all, the fire crackled warmly, and in its mutterings Remus heard echoes – Lily’s bright laugh, James’ snort of amusement, Sirius’ dark chuckle. His mother and father, whispering confidences to each other. Remus drifted in and out of awareness of the pack’s conversations that were taking place around him, and all the while nursed his grief and gratitude as a tender thing held close against his chest.  
   
Joy drifted off in Serena’s lap, sleepily protesting “One more story…” to the last. In the wee hours of the night, as the large group devolved into smaller, quieter conversations in clusters of two or three, Remus slipped away to the lean-to and his bed.  
   
The grief was still there, held tight and close. It would always be there. But he had survived another Halloween. And that was the most Remus had ever dared to ask of this day.  
   
As Remus was wrapping his piece of canvas around him, in his sleeping spot up against one wall of the lean-to, Serena ducked in under the low-hanging roof, leading a stumbling, drowsy Joy by the hand, coaxing her towards their own sleeping corner.  
   
“Now, my little rippling River,” Remus heard Serena say quietly, as the two of them passed by his sleeping spot, “we say good night to our dead, and we wish them well until we see them again next year. Who would you like to say good night to?”  
   
“Good night, Mummy,” Joy murmured, her voice soft with sleep.  
   
They had passed Remus now and were on the other side of the lean-to, so Remus just barely heard Serena add quietly, “Good night, Irena.”  
   
For once, Remus’ heart was breaking on Halloween night and it was for a tragedy not his own.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samhain (pronounced, roughly, "sow-in" or "sah-win") is the Gaelic festival that preceded modern Halloween; the practices described here are roughly based on real Samhain traditions.
> 
> This chapter, about Remus on Halloween of the HBP year, of course bears close ties to what I've written about him during the previous year (marking Halloween of OotP with Sirius in [Chapter 5 of "Be the Light in my Lantern"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2255736/chapters/5278913)) and the year after this (during DH with Tonks, in a stand-alone story called "[Yahrzeit](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1062818)").
> 
> This theme of the remembered voices of Remus' lost friends accompanying him throughout his life has, quite by accident, become quite a thing with me. Other stories in which that theme plays a role are:  
> [Cast Your Soul to the Sea](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1160738)  
> [What I Have Taken Long Before](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1463332/chapters/3082888)  
> and [Yahrzeit](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1062818)
> 
> Long end note is already long, but I'll mention anyway: If this feels like a lot of HBP-era angst, I invite you to also check out the two short fics I wrote for this winter's rt-morelove Remus/Tonks writing event – both are fun and sweet and romantic!  
> • [Ain't Misbehavin'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5980783/chapters/13744225) ("It wouldn't be the Auror Christmas party without a mystery to solve, a spot of mischief, and a very well-earned slow dance." Remus/Tonks)  
> • [Waiting for the Snow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5860888) ("Four days. Victoire will be back from France in four days. Teddy can survive that…right?" Teddy/Victoire and Teddy gen)
> 
> And while I'm at it, I'll also mention for anyone who doesn't already know, that those little quotes at the start of each chapter do have relevance... I spent hours and hours (seriously, you can't imagine!) over the course of writing this story picking just the right song to accompany each chapter; you can listen to the playlists of those songs [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4867541/chapters/11157113). The song for this chapter feels particularly fitting.


	11. Midwinter Nights

   
   
_Believe in me_  
_We’re a mystery_  
_And I’ll meet you_  
_If you’ll meet me_  
   
_–Lindsay Phillips, We’re a Mystery_

 

“You have _got_ to be kidding,” Tonks groaned.  
   
Savage was back from his latest check-in at the Ministry with Robards, and had returned with the news that Scrimgeour wanted them to keep a closer eye on Dumbledore’s movements. From now on, they were to tail the headmaster discreetly whenever he left the castle.  
   
What idiocy. Even setting aside the small matter that Tonks doubted _anyone_ could tail Dumbledore if he didn’t choose to allow it, surely as Aurors they had more important things to do than spy on the Hogwarts headmaster? In the last week alone they’d twice had to fend off Dementors from Hogsmeade, and Tonks was feeling on edge.  
   
“Orders are orders,” Dawlish shrugged. “Scrimgeour’ll have his reasons.”  
   
Tonks glanced at Proudfoot, who could usually be depended on for a modicum of scepticism. But he shrugged too and said, “Dumbledore is a great wizard, nobody’s disputing that, but even he shouldn’t be acting outside of Ministry sanction. If he’s going to keep insisting on doing things his own way, we’re going to have to keep an eye on him.”  
   
Tonks gritted her teeth, but managed not to say anything contrary aloud. She was getting better at that. When she got off duty that evening, though, she dashed by the Post Office to send off an owl to Kingsley, carrying a note that read, _You hear about this latest idiocy? Shall I inform the man in question, or are you taking care of it? T._  
   
Kingsley’s note by return owl read, _Have informed the man in question. Doubt anyone could get one over on him anyway, but never hurts to be prepared. I appreciate your vigilance, as a friend of ours would say. K._  
   
Tonks shook her head wryly as she looked down at the message in hand. These days, even their messages that weren’t officially encrypted came out sounding as if they were in code all the same.  
   
Being a double agent for a secret organisation that battled evil might sound awesome – and in truth it _was_ awesome, if only Tonks were ever able to stop moving long enough to step back and look at the big picture – but so often the day to day work of it amounted to nothing but frustrations and petty stumbling blocks, and the extra legwork required to clear those frustrations and stumbling blocks out of the way. Such as, for example, the illogic of her colleagues in one job being required to spy on her chief colleague in her other job, and Tonks having to find a way to navigate the space between the two.  
   
Tonks sighed, blew a lock of mousy brown hair out of her eyes with an impatient puff of air, and sent the owl winging back to the Post Office.  
   
A few days later, Tonks was at the tiny table in her flat, devouring a very late evening meal after a long shift, when a horrible screeching noise startled the knife and fork from her hands and sent them clattering to the tabletop. The screeching sound was coming from her Aurorlog, its alarm shrieking at high pitch.  
   
“All the magical brainpower in the world and we can’t seem to make them go off at a normal volume,” Tonks grumbled as she shoved up her sleeve to expose her Auror wristband.  
   
Then she caught sight of its face and flung herself up from her chair. The hand position indicated Dawlish and the colour flashing on the dial said he’d been rendered unconscious.  
   
Tonks threw on a cloak, grabbed her broom and kicked off straight from the sill of her attic window, pointing herself in the direction that the metal arrow on her Aurorlog indicated was where Dawlish – or at least the sister Aurorlog Dawlish wore – would be found.  
   
Tonks landed outside the Hogwarts gates to find Savage, who had been on Hogsmeade patrol duty this evening, already bending over Dawlish, who’d been on Dumbledore watch. Savage cast a strong _Rennervate_ , and Dawlish groaned and pushed himself up from the ground as Proudfoot swooped in to join them, also broom-borne.  
   
“What happened?” Savage demanded.  
   
“That _confounded_ man,” Dawlish groaned, gingerly touching the back of his head. “He knew I was there – I don’t know _how_ he knew, I was perfectly Disillusioned, I promise you – and he Stunned me before I could react.”  
   
Was this what they’d come to, Dumbledore and the Ministry openly attacking each other? For about half a second after Scrimgeour had started as Minister, Tonks had hoped all of that stupidity was over. Instead, the Order and the Aurors were still just as much on opposing sides as they had been under Fudge.  
   
It was stupid, so _stupid_ , to be at odds like this when what mattered more than anything was that they ought to all be on the same side, fighting Voldemort.  
   
“I’m so sorry,” Tonks said to Dawlish, as she leaned in to give him a hand up from the hard ground, and she meant it more than he could know.  
   
As the four of them walked back to the village together, Tonks wondered if they were going to make her their emissary again, send her up to the castle to complain at Dumbledore once he returned from wherever it was he’d gone. But what exactly would she say? _I know you’ve got important stuff of your own to do and the last thing you need is some bumbling Ministry employee following you around, but also if you could possibly help it do you think you could please stop hexing my colleagues?_  
   
In the end, though, they decided instead to send a Floo message to Robards, who sent back a return note promising to raise the matter with Scrimgeour, who would take it up with Dumbledore.  
   
Ministry bureaucracy at its finest. Tonks almost wished they _had_ sent her to complain directly to Dumbledore and have done with it.  
   
Each day that went on like this – supposed allies failing to work together, supposed Dark-wizard-catchers failing to catch anyone but the middlemen – only tightened the knot of frustration that lived constantly in the pit of Tonks’ stomach.  
   
– – – – –  
   
The morning after the Samhain bonfire Remus woke early, before any of the others were awake. He pushed himself up from his sleeping canvas and looked around at the sleeping pack. His breath formed vaporous ghosts in the air, even within the shelter of the lean-to.  
   
The night’s dreams had been a confusion of images and were already fading, but a last sensory impression remained, a feeling of being cocooned in a warm bed in a cosy flat – the London flat of a certain bright-haired Auror, a place Remus had come to know well the previous year, and which he had all too quickly learned to associate with safety and warmth and a sense of belonging. He pushed such thoughts firmly away during his waking hours, but his dreaming mind found treacherous ways of slipping past his barriers.  
   
Why did his mind slip away to Tonks the moment he left it unguarded? Remus had told himself over and over to let go. He had told Tonks, too, that there could be nothing more between them. So why couldn’t he seem to convince himself of the same?  
   
The loss of James and Lily, even the loss of Sirius – those were hard, dull aches that seemed to have been with Remus so long, they’d become simply a part of his being. They were no less painful for that, but at least their ache was familiar.  
   
The absence of Tonks was different, sharp and immediate, and if Remus was honest with himself, he knew exactly why: Unlike all the others Remus had lost, Tonks was still alive. Remus could see her and speak to her any time, if only he would allow it of himself.  
   
But he couldn’t allow it.  
   
All he could do was to keep setting those thoughts aside, and setting them aside, over and over in the hope that one day his attempted forgetting might finally take hold.  
   
As November progressed and the cold grew deeper, it became clear to Remus that the peaceful solidarity of Samhain had only briefly patched over a growing sense of discontent within the pack. The younger ones were restless, and more than once Remus overheard snatches of whispered conversation amongst them, as they compared their own Alpha’s ways with rumours they’d picked up about freedoms allowed in other packs. Their dissatisfaction was never expressed overtly, of course, not here within the hierarchy of the pack. But as the winter weather deepened, the young ones grew increasingly, quietly, disconcertingly sullen.  
   
Narun, Adair and Tamara, especially, had a tendency to draw away from the others, talking intently amongst themselves but trailing off when any of the older adults came near. Another time, Remus stumbled across a heated conversation between young Narun and Jack, who was nearly the Alpha’s age, both their voices quiet but angry.  
   
The Alpha now grouped the pack members differently when he sent them out to hunt and gather, pairing young ones with older ones to accompany them, rather than allowing two or more of the young ones to go off together unsupervised. But the whispered conversations and flare-ups of disagreement continued.  
   
One day, Remus was sent out with Ashmita and Adair – both an older partner and a younger one, he noted wryly, since he himself didn’t quite count as either within the structures of the pack – and he witnessed firsthand as Adair attempted to convince Ashmita of his reasoning.  
   
“But think of Mother,” Adair pressed. “She’s advanced in years, yet she has to live out here and sleep on the cold ground, eating nothing but rabbits. As our elder, doesn’t she deserve more? Doesn’t she deserve comfort, real prey, real _respect_?”  
   
Ashmita shut him down instantly. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, idiot child,” she snapped, baring her teeth at Adair in a startlingly wolf-like way, and that was the end of that conversation.  
   
But still, still, a disquieting discontent continued to roil beneath the daily life of the pack.  
   
At least they all still came together at the full moon. Remus was never precisely _glad_ when the moon reached its fullest phase and tore his body apart, but he’d rarely felt as relieved on the morning after a full moon as he did now, watching the pack drift about the camp, their bodies still recovering but their interactions with each other looser, less strained, thanks to the sense of solidarity that came from a night of running free together.  
   
For the first time, Remus truly wished he could retain more than the vaguest of sense memories from the “wolf mind” he was forced to inhabit for the duration of a full moon night. He would have liked to know what had transpired between their wolf selves to return this sense of truce to the pack. Who had play-fought, who had worked together to bring down prey? What alliances had been forged or reinforced in the course of the night?  
   
He didn’t ask those questions aloud, though. The current calm felt too delicate.  
   
Remus did, however, get a chance to discuss the growing tensions in the pack, while out hunting with Jack a few days after the full moon. Jack was the one who’d first given Remus his pack name, “Quiet,” and Jack was diametrically everything Remus was not – brawny, loud and forthright.  
   
Jack had also, inexplicably, taken a shine to Remus, with a brotherly fondness that had gradually become evident behind the teasing. He was the one who’d suggested they hunt together this afternoon. Remus was hopeless with a bow and arrow and suspected he always would be, at least without the benefit of a wand to charm the arrow straight, but Jack seemed determined to get Remus to the level of being at least passable at the basics.  
   
They crunched across the frosted ground. Remus was wrapped in his cloak, as well as a crude waistcoat of rabbit pelts Serena had fashioned for him out of pity when she saw that he didn’t have anywhere near adequate clothing for a winter of living out of doors.  
   
Jack was relentlessly cheerful, clearly relishing the physical exertion and the scent of snow on the air. Once he’d got past the initial brash impression, Remus had found he appreciated Jack’s plainspoken manner. He could count on Jack to tell it like it was, and not be offended by questions.  
   
“The younger ones in the pack seem restless,” Remus ventured, as they crunched along.  
   
Jack shrugged. “Young ones are always restless.”  
   
Since Jack didn’t seem offended by this line of questioning, Remus pushed on. “They’ve heard the rumours about Greyback and the kind of life he’s supposedly offering, and they’re tempted.”  
   
“Well, that’s the fallacy of youth, isn’t it? Thinking things are always better somewhere else.”  
   
“You aren’t worried they’ll decide to join him?”  
   
To Remus’ surprise, Jack laughed. “Pack affiliations shift, Quiet. If any of the young ones are desperate to go joining Greyback’s pack – and the more fools them, if they are – then nothing’s stopping them.”  
   
Remus stared at him and almost tripped over a tussock of grass. “But – what happens to the pack, if its entire younger generation leaves? You would let that happen?”  
   
“Quiet. City Wolf. Understand one thing. _I_ am not letting anything happen. _I_ am not making anything happen. It is Alpha’s to decide how to run his pack. And I promise you, Alpha hasn’t got where he is by being a fool. Believe that, even if you won’t believe anything else we keep telling you.”  
   
Jack tossed a wolfish grin Remus’ way. Then, before Remus could think what to answer, Jack sighted a hare a hundred yards ahead of them, gave a shout and bounded after it, and philosophical concerns gave way for the time being to an archery demonstration.  
   
Remus, too, came to find these days on the open moor invigorating, as he grew more accustomed to the outdoor life and the cold. As late autumn slipped into the first cool breath of winter, Remus spent many days out of doors, hunting with Jack or the others.  
   
He also slipped away when he could to his “quiet spot,” as the others teasingly called it, the bit of the moor where the ground was uneven and water trickled out of the exposed earth. The ground was frozen now, with solid ice where before there had been water, but it was still pleasant to be alone there in the quiet of the winter moor.  
   
It was near the end of November, on a day when Remus had seized one such rare moment to himself, enveloped in blissful silence under the wide, white sky, when a dove-coloured barn owl swooped down and startled him.  
   
Surprised, Remus reached out one hand automatically to untie the scroll the owl offered him on an outstretched leg. This duty discharged, the owl hooted agreeably and rose again to turn lazy circles above Remus’ head.  
   
_Dear Remus_ , he read, in Dumbledore’s unmistakeable spiky script.  
   
_This owl has instructions to deliver the letter only when you are alone and unobserved. The last thing I would wish would be to compromise your mission, but at the same time, I would be remiss if I failed to make contact at all, when you have been away so long. I hope this approach to the matter may serve as a happy medium._  
   
_I do hope this letter finds you well, Remus, hale and hearty still. Please do not compromise your own safety and well-being for the sake of your mission._  
   
_Only if these first queries can be answered in the affirmative do I proceed to the next ones: How does your mission proceed? Do you feel it to be worthwhile that you remain? If there is any information you wish to share that is not too sensitive for communication via owl, I will be its happy recipient._  
   
_Now, to the third reason for my writing. Molly has impressed upon me in no uncertain terms that if there is any way physically possible in this world for you to attend Christmas at the Burrow this year, then your presence there is most ardently desired. If you think your new acquaintances can spare you for a few days, the Weasleys would be very glad to see you._  
   
_And if you are indeed able to get away, I myself would be grateful for the opportunity to exchange a few words on your progress so far._  
   
_I have enclosed additional parchment and a quill with this letter, should you wish to reply by return owl._  
   
_Humbly yours,_  
_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_  
   
Well. Remus looked again at the letter in his hand, then up at the grey-white November sky. Then he laughed out loud, to the consternation of the owl still circling him.  
   
Of all the things that were absurd about his current life, this surely ranked high: to be standing in the middle of the open moor in a rabbit-fur waistcoat and old clothes that grew more tattered by the month, catching a few precious moments away from the tumult of living in small wooden lean-to on a remote moor with a dozen werewolves as winter approached, and then to receive, delivered to his hand by owl post, such a gentlemanly invitation from Albus Dumbledore.  
   
Remus calmed his slightly hysterical mirth and returned his attention to the scroll in his hand.  
   
Once fully unfurled, he found it did indeed include a second, blank piece of parchment rolled inside the first, with a small self-inking quill dangling from a ribbon threaded through a corner of the parchment. Small, that is, but not so small that it would require magical expansion in order to be usable, because Dumbledore of course knew Remus wouldn’t have his wand with him. The man really did think of everything.  
   
_Dear Professor Dumbledore_ , Remus wrote, unable to address this professor he so respected and admired as “Albus,” even after all these years.  
   
_It is very good of you to seek me out – I appreciate it greatly. I appreciate your owl’s discretion as well._  
   
_And it is good, I think, that you have waited until now to ask these questions. In my first weeks here, I might have been tempted to answer that it is all for nothing and I might as well slink back to London in defeat. Now, I find I don’t believe that any longer. I am making inroads here, if slowly, gaining trust as well as improving my own understanding. I still don’t know that I can promise to do any good by being here, but neither do I think my presence will do any harm. If it is amenable to you, I will continue on here for a while yet._  
   
_I have little concrete information to report so far. F.G. continues to make the promises we know he has been making all along. Many even beyond his direct sphere of influence are enamoured of what he preaches, the younger ones especially. Yet there are some who choose to remain neutral, who do not feel this to be their fight and who are happy with their lives as they are. Still, at present there are few, if any, who would actively take our side. Indeed, from their perspective, there is little reason to._  
   
_As to the other point you raised, please tell Molly nothing would please me more, but I shall have to see whether it is possible. Perhaps you could send another owl in a fortnight or so, and I shall try to have an answer by then. I hate to impose on you this way, but at the moment my options for communication are limited._  
   
_If a time away from here proves to be possible, I would of course be very glad to meet with you and discuss in more detail what I’ve learned so far._  
   
_Yours most sincerely,_  
_Remus Lupin_  
   
Remus rolled up the letter, tied it and sent it off again with the owl, all with a strange sense of unreality. The very thought of London or the Burrow, of Molly and Arthur and their family, seemed like something out of another life. Even Christmas sounded slightly foreign, like an unfamiliar custom from a country he’d once visited.  
   
But sooner than he would have expected, Remus got his answer on the possibility of leaving the pack to visit the Burrow, and it came from an unexpected quarter.  
   
It was two days after a full moon and the December wind was biting, finding its way in through every chink and crack in the lean-to walls. Remus felt the chill acutely, and it seemed as though he’d been living with a slight chest cold for about as long as he could remember, although in reality it had probably only been a week or two.  
   
The Alpha had directed Remus to stay back at the camp to watch over elderly Anna. Remus took this, cautiously, as a sign of trust, since this was the first time the Alpha had assigned this important role to Remus alone, rather than pairing him with another member of the pack.  
   
As Anna dozed in her hammock, which now hung between two posts within the lean-to, Remus tended the fire and pondered that morning’s events.  
   
A disagreement had flared between Ashmita and Narun, sudden, sharp and angry, as the pack were waking for the day. Open conflict was exceedingly rare, which made it all the more of a shock to see tiny Ashmita and young Narun standing almost nose to nose, their voices pitched low but fierce.  
   
Before Remus could parse what their argument was about, it was over, the Alpha stepping between Ashmita and Narun and breaking up the spat with a few short words uttered in his most dangerous growl. No discussion, no arbitration, simply a swift and final judgement. Ashmita had bowed her head deferentially and nodded; Narun had slunk away, the tail he didn’t have in human form almost visibly tucked between his legs. It was clear to see the Alpha’s ruling had been in Ashmita’s favour.  
   
“That is the way of the pack,” Anna’s voice said behind Remus now. He whirled around to see her wizened face peering at him over the edge of the hammock.  
   
“Mother,” he said. “Would you like me to help you sit up?”  
   
“Yes, thank you, child.”  
   
Remus rose from where he’d been watching over the fire and went to her, helping her shift into a more upright position.  
   
Once she was comfortable and Remus had settled onto the floor beside her hammock, Anna repeated, “That is the way of the pack, City Wolf.” She’d never really made the switch from Remus’ initial pack name to the newer one. But then, Anna often seemed to have her own names for everyone.  
   
“You disapprove of our method of conflict resolution,” she went on. “You think disagreements should be resolved through discussion, a careful weighing of both perspectives.” She chuckled at the consternation she must have seen on Remus’ face. “No, I’m not a mind reader, or whatever you wizards are calling it nowadays. But your body language just now as you were wool-gathering over the fire spoke to me as plainly as if you’d used words.”  
   
“You’re right,” Remus admitted, figuring he was allowed to be honest about this, since she was the one who had raised the issue. “I don’t see how it’s possible to decide which person in a conflict is in the right without first hearing both sides. Alpha wasn’t just telling the two of them to stop arguing; he was clearly telling Ashmita that she was in the right, and Narun that he should step away. How can a disagreement be resolved with that approach?”  
   
Anna raised one hand imperiously. “This is what you must understand, City Wolf: The fairness to which you aspire will never be as important to us as the unity of the pack.”  
   
“But how does that foster unity, not giving everyone an equal say?”  
   
The gaze of her milky blue eyes was penetrating. “Because everyone here knows Alpha’s word is law, one law for all of us. And that is our unity.”  
   
Remus nodded. Whatever else he might think of the pack’s autocratic form of governance, that much was true: What the Alpha decreed was final, and it did tend to make boundaries crystal clear.  
   
Anna’s expression softened, and she beckoned to him. “Come closer, young one. Sit where I can reach you.”  
   
Remus shifted closer, resting his head against the wall next to the top end of her hammock. Anna reached out a hand and stroked his hair, a gesture that was oddly intimate but not at all unpleasant. As hard as his mind tried to push away the memory, Remus’ senses remembered Tonks doing the same, stroking his hair many evenings as he rested on the sofa in her flat, offering him quiet moments of calm away from the relentless pace of his work for the Order, during those last few weeks before everything had gone wrong.  
   
“You’re allowed to visit back to the city, you know,” Anna said. Remus must have startled beneath her hand at that, because she chuckled and petted his hair more firmly. “It’s no secret, child, to someone who understands the language of the body that we all speak, even without knowing it. I can see it every day in your face, in the way you move. You miss someone you left behind in the city. A mate, perhaps.”  
   
“No,” Remus said firmly. “I don’t have a mate. A partner, I mean – a girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend.”  
   
“Perhaps not,” Anna agreed. “But there is someone you are constantly wishing you could be with. And that is what we generally refer to as a mate.”  
   
“No, Mother,” Remus insisted. “It’s not like that.”  
   
“I think it’s exactly like that,” she said. “But we shall pretend otherwise, if it suits you. Still, nothing is preventing you from visiting your friends in the city if you wish. Nothing ties you here. This is not your ground.”  
   
“This _is_ my ground,” Remus said, feeling stubborn on this point. He cared about the pack, each and every one of them. Even when they were mocking him. Even when they were expressing alarming sentiments about the dominance they felt werewolves deserved. Remus had come to care about all the pack’s members and he wanted them to come safely through this war. If Greyback came around trying to recruit for his cause, as Remus constantly feared he would do, then Remus damn well wanted to be here to stand in his way.  
   
Still, maybe he really could pay a brief visit to the Weasleys without jeopardising his role here. Perhaps his commitment to the pack and his dedication to the friends he had left behind were two things that could both exist in the same world. The Mother of the pack herself had just told him that they could.  
   
Remus looked up to find Anna’s gaze on him, assessing him. But she didn’t say a word more on the subject.  
   
– – – – –  
   
When they drew up the holiday duty schedule, Tonks volunteered to take Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  
   
Savage and Dawlish immediately expressed such gratitude at being able to spend the holiday with their families that Tonks almost blurted out the truth: She wasn’t offering because she was a good, helpful colleague, she was offering because a significant portion of the people she most wanted to spend Christmas with were either dead or impossibly distant. Frankly, she would have preferred to avoid the holiday this year entirely.  
   
There was no getting out of spending at least part of it with her parents, though. And Proudfoot offered to cover the evening of Christmas Day and Boxing Day, which meant Tonks would be able to make it to a late Christmas dinner. Her parents would have to be satisfied with that.  
   
That evening, after the duty roster conversation, Tonks went for a long walk through the wintry countryside beyond the village, thinking maybe if she walked long enough it might settle her chaotic thoughts.  
   
It was almost Christmas. Tonks loved Christmas – the fairy lights, the enthusiastic but frequently off-key singing, the cosy gathering-together of family and friends, the whole lot of it. Or – she’d always thought she loved it, but this year she couldn’t seem to muster any excitement. What exactly was there to feel celebratory about?  
   
Tonks paused at the crest of a hill, tightening the clasp of her cloak at her throat against the wind, and gazed down into the next valley. The contours of the land were softened by a dusting of snow and the trees wore a delicate drapery of white along every branch. It was December already, how had it got to be December? Six months since Sirius had died, in a last bright burst of defiant glory cut off far too soon.  
   
Tonks wondered if she would ever stop replaying that night in her mind, over and over in all its horrible detail. She hadn’t even been _conscious_ by the point when Sirius was killed, she’d been knocked out herself by chunks of stone blasted apart by Bellatrix. And yet sometimes, still, she couldn’t stop herself from seeing again and again what the others had described, Sirius falling backwards through the ragged veil with a look of surprise on his face.  
   
Tonks shivered, standing there poised at the top of the hill, and didn’t know whether or not it was only because of the cold wind nipping at the back of her neck.  
   
And damn it, now she was thinking of Remus again, because Remus had lost Sirius too, and Remus, if he were here, would understand her feelings of loss and guilt and of having failed Sirius. Having Remus here to share her grief would make its weight not quite so crushing.  
   
But Remus wasn’t here, and by his own choice.  
   
Oh, not the mission to the werewolves, Tonks didn’t fault him for that. Remus’ mission was a duty to the Order, and Remus was a person who put duty first. Tonks understood that. She was the same way.  
   
No, what she couldn’t come to grips with was the way he’d simply walked away from her, and tried to act like it was no big deal. Like he could take or leave everything that had gone before.  
   
But even as he was saying those calm, logical things about how this way made more sense, his eyes told a different story. No matter what Remus _said_ he meant, he always gave himself away with the way he looked at her.  
   
Probably why he’d sent Tonks that cowardly letter, instead of coming to say a proper goodbye.  
   
With a yell of frustration, Tonks plunged down the hill in front of her, her breath puffing in the cold air. Shouting felt good, so she did it again, bellowing as loudly as she could as she picked her pace up into a run.  
   
“Everything is upside down!” Tonks shouted, and a crow in a nearby tree startled noisily, then flapped away. Tonks’ cloak, too, flapped around her like a wild thing with a mind of its own. “Everything is all backwards and utterly mixed up!” she yelled.  
   
She ran down one hill and up the next, gasping at the sharpness of the cold air in her lungs, but pushing through the pain. She finally stopped and turned, panting, to look back the way she’d come, gazing over hills that were subdued browns and whites and greys, the muted tones of winter. The countryside around Hogsmeade was lovely, that much was true. Not breathtaking, like other parts of Scotland were, but quietly lovely.  
   
Tonks took a deep breath of cold air, held it, let it out.  
   
She would find a way to keep it together and keep doing her work. She would push through, no matter how frustrating it felt, keep doing absolutely as much as she could to fight back against the war and the Death Eaters and the terrible state of everything. She had to.  
   
– – – – –  
   
_Dear Molly and Arthur,_  
   
_Thank you for your invitation to stay with you at Christmas. I’ve just had a second letter from Dumbledore, reiterating the invitation, and it’s very good of you to think of me. I’m glad to be able to tell you I gratefully accept, as it looks like I’ll be able to get away here for a couple of days with no harm done._  
_If all goes well, I should arrive at the Burrow on the evening of the 23rd and be able to stay for three nights, if that’s all right with you. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to your cooking, Molly, and even more to both of your companionship._  
_Yours,_  
_Remus_  
_._  
   
_Dear Tonks,_  
_We haven’t heard a peep out of you in ages and I do worry about you. Are you taking care of yourself? I hope you’re managing to enjoy yourself up there, and not only working. Do you see Ron and Harry and Hermione very often?_  
_I don’t know what your plans for Christmas are, but we would be delighted to have you here at the Burrow if you can find the time. We’ve just had wonderful news: Remus will be here for Christmas. Dumbledore contacted him and was able to pass along a message from us as well. I’m terribly glad we’ll get to see him. I think about him often and can’t help but worry, as I’m sure you do, too._  
_Anyway, dear, do let us know whether you can come for Christmas. We’d be happy to have you at any point during the holiday, for as long as you care to stay._  
_Warm greetings from Arthur as well,_  
_Molly_  
_._  
   
_Dear Molly,_  
_Wotcher! Great to hear from you, thanks for writing. Sorry I haven’t been in touch more often – work here is keeping me pretty busy. And no, actually I barely see the kids at all, since they only come to the village when they have Hogsmeade weekends. But from what I hear, they’re doing fine._  
_Thanks a bunch for the invitation – really, I appreciate it – but I’m going to be on duty here both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Least seniority on the team and all that, you know how it is. I’ll hopefully have time to dash down to my parents’ place for dinner, but that’s about it. But I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas together. Give my best to the whole clan, please!_  
_See you in the new year,_  
_Tonks_  
_._  
   
_Hey T,_  
_Don’t know what plans you’ve got for Christmas (let me guess: work?) but if you want you’re very welcome to come down here for a bit. Damien and I are going to be celebrating together, which I guess makes this the first time that I’m the one hosting Christmas … Merlin, that makes me feel all strange and grown-up!_  
_Anyway, don’t spend ALL of Christmas working, okay? If you can spare even a single evening for dinner, we’d love to have you over. I’d like you to meet Damien, too!_  
_Hope you’re taking care of yourself, you mad Auror, you. See you soon,_  
_Ariadne_  
_._  
   
_Ariadne! Perfect timing._  
_Yes, yes, you’re not wrong in guessing I’ll be working most of Christmas. You know me… Can’t change a Horntail’s stripes, or whatever. But I’ve got the evening of the 25th off, and Boxing Day, too. So I’ll make it to (late) Christmas dinner with the parents, but that’s it for me and family Christmas this year. You can imagine how well that went down. (You know how my mum gets.) So, long story short, YES, it’d be fantastic to have an exit planned for when Mum gets going with ‘What exactly is it they have you doing up in Hogsmeade all this time and is this really the best step for your career’ and ‘Did I hear DEMENTORS attacked the village’ and ‘Whatever did happen exactly between you and Remus, Nymphadora’…_  
_In other words, yes please, I’d love to come over on Boxing Day!_  
_Want me to bring anything? You know my cooking is atrocious, but I can purchase a mean cake, if I do say so myself!_  
_Looking forward to meeting your bloke. I’m sure he’s fantastic._  
_T_  
_._  
   
_T, you don’t need to bring anything, just bring yourself. (Ha, doesn’t that sound so very grown-up? Look at me playing at being hostess for the holidays.) Can’t wait to see you,_  
_A_  
   
– – – – –  
   
Where Samhain and Imbolc had been larger celebrations, the winter solstice was a quiet affair, observed around the usual campfire outside the doorway to the lean-to.  
   
Jack and the Alpha fetched down a Yule log, a section saved from a tree felled the previous winter and stored all year in the high crotch of a tree. Anna blessed the log, then Brighid fed it into the fire. At midnight, Anna tossed fresh juniper branches onto the fire and they all leaned in and coughed in the sharp, cleansing smoke.  
   
The winter solstice, Remus learned, was also known here as “Mothers’ Night,” and as the three eldest females of the pack, Anna, Brighid and Ashmita were honoured tonight. Every member of the pack, even the Alpha, bent over each of their hands and received a blessing.  
   
“May you find your peace and your heart’s desire,” were Anna’s murmured words, when Remus bent his head before her and kissed her hand.  
   
The next morning, Remus requested an audience with the Alpha and asked permission to leave for a few days. He expected resistance, or at least questions, but the Alpha simply nodded.  
   
Remus remembered what the Alpha had said about letting the younger members of the pack explore the outside world on his terms, because otherwise they would do it on their own, and he realised the Alpha was handling him the same way. Remus’ respect for the man went up another notch.  
   
And so the night before Christmas Eve, Remus left the stand of trees where the pack lived and crossed the dips and rises of the moor, until he found the path back to the village where he had first arrived here. His fingers tingled in anticipation of holding his wand again. Oh, how he had missed magic.  
   
He found the rock at the edge of the village where he’d hidden the small rucksack containing his wand and a few other possessions, all those months ago. He picked up the rucksack and stood gazing down at it in his hands, as awed at the sight as if it were a relic from another life. Then he pulled open the drawstring of the pack and withdrew his wand.  
   
He wasn’t imagining it; a frisson of energy passed between the wand and his hand when they touched. Remus smiled at the familiar sensation. His wand, equal parts instrument and friend, had accompanied him through all the ups and downs of his life since he was eleven years old.  
   
“Hello,” he whispered to it, then, “ _Lumos_.”  
   
The tip of his wand lit up brightly in the darkness and Remus felt the same simple, deep satisfaction he’d felt the first time he successfully cast that spell at the age of eleven.  
   
Still smiling to himself, he spun on the spot and thought of the Burrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, once again the solstice celebrations mentioned here draw on real solstice traditions. (Solstice = longest day of the year (summer) or shortest day of the year (winter), when the sun changes course from getting gradually higher in the sky (summer) or lower in the sky (winter). A very important moment in the year, if you live entwined with nature and depending on the natural world for survival.)
> 
> And here's the werewolf pack once again, for handy reference:
> 
> the Alpha, a male in his 40s, the pack’s leader  
> Anna, or the Mother, the oldest pack member, symbolic mother of all  
> Brighid, or Fire, the Alpha’s mate, roughly his age  
> Serena, or Trouble, roughly Remus’ age  
> Jack, or Thunderstorm, a little younger than the Alpha, Ashmita’s mate  
> Ashmita, or Rock Crag, Jack’s mate  
> Ronan, or Hardwood, young adult member of the pack, perhaps 20  
> Narun, or Rapids, roughly the same age  
> Adair, or Jump, roughly the same age  
> Tamara, or Blackthorn, roughly the same age  
> Eirwen, or Slither, a young teenager, 13 or 14  
> Joy, or River Run, the pack’s youngest member, 6 or 7
> 
> Hey folks, we're halfway through the story! (Well, halfway in terms of chapters, and nearly halfway in terms of word count.) Can't quite believe it.


	12. Christmas at the Burrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shifting between points of view gets a little out of balance in this middle bit of the story; because of what canonical events this story needs to cover, there are a couple chapters that show only Remus' point of view, or only Tonks'. I beg your patience (and recall you to the first half of this series, "Be the Light in My Lantern," where nearly every chapter belonged to only one character!) 
> 
> Also, this is a rare case where this fic intersects with actual, canonical events from Half-Blood Prince, so as always, anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling!

   
_Light, you’re with me in the dark_  
_Light my way at night_  
   
_–Ásgeir Trausti/Einar Georg/John Grant, Going Home  
  
_

 

Remus landed outside the Burrow’s garden with a jolt of shock at seeing the familiar place again. With smoke wafting skywards from its lopsided chimney, the Burrow looked like a picture postcard for the very idea of home.  
   
Remus approached and knocked. “Remus!” a voice inside cried, and the door flew open to reveal Molly standing just inside the kitchen door.  
   
“Security question, Molly!” Remus protested, but she was already pulling him inside, closing the door, and hugging him hard.  
   
“Oh, Remus, I’m so glad,” Molly exclaimed, her voice muffled in his shoulder. “You did write that you’d come, but I couldn’t believe it until I’d seen you with my own eyes and, oh, here you are –” She pulled away, holding Remus at arm’s length and looking him over with a critical eye. “Oh, but you’re rail thin, we’ll have to get some food into you. I’ve got something left from dinner, won’t take a moment to heat it up –” Molly bustled to the other side of the kitchen even as she spoke.  
   
“Molly, don’t trouble yourself, there’s no need –”  
   
“ _Nonsense_ , Remus Lupin, you sit at that table and eat.”  
   
Remus sat.  
   
Molly piled a plate with an enormous slice of steak and kidney pie and a generous heap of vegetables, then slid an immense dish of trifle onto the table beside it, keeping up a cheerful patter all the while. “The children are upstairs in bed already, but Arthur will be home any moment now, he’s been working such long hours at the Ministry. We’ve got a room all made up for you – you’re to sleep in Bill’s room, and he’s bunking up with the twins, it’s a full house, certainly, but I’m ever so pleased you’re here…”  
   
Remus could feel his body letting go of a constant tension, the need to be watchful at all times as a matter of survival, as he sank into the familiarity of the Burrow. Already, the stand of trees where the pack slept on the moor seemed very far away.  
   
But he had only a few days here. He mustn’t allow himself to grow too accustomed to this.  
   
Molly sat with him as he ate, chatting cheerfully, though Remus could read her worry in the way she looked at him, and the way she kept urging him to take a second and third helping.  
   
When Arthur arrived home, he clapped Remus heartily on the shoulder, but Remus saw the worry in his eyes, too. It wasn’t something Remus had expected, to ever again have friends like this who cared about seeing him safe and well.  
   
Once Molly was finally satisfied that Remus had eaten his fill, she drifted away upstairs, clearly wanting to allow Arthur his own chance to catch up with Remus. Arthur pulled two bottles of beer from the cooling cupboard and Remus’ stomach dropped at the memory of the last time they had sat here, he and Arthur, over bottles of beer. It had been high summer still, and the loss of Sirius had been a raw wound.  
   
In the months since, Remus had once again learned to tuck that wild grief away into the quiet corner of himself where all the pieces of his grief lived. There, it was contained enough to allow him to get on with the things that needed getting on with. But it was never entirely gone.  
   
“Cheers,” Arthur said, settling into the chair opposite. He raised his drink, and Remus did the same. “I’m glad you’re here, Remus. _We’re_ glad. Molly’s been frightfully worried about you – I’m sure you can imagine. How have you been keeping? Has it been terribly dangerous?”  
   
Remus looked at Arthur’s kind, concerned face and thought, _This is what werewolves face_. _Not only the predictable hatred of bigots, but the mistrust even of those who could be their allies. Even Arthur Weasley, one of the best men I know, can’t imagine werewolves as anything but savages…Present company excepted, of course._ Remus knew that even to his friends he was only and ever the exception – a civilised man despite his lycanthropy, not because of it. And he found it mattered to him very much that he correct that mistaken view.  
   
Remus took a long pull of his drink, thinking how to begin.  
   
“The pack I’m living with,” he said, “have more social cohesion than any other group I’ve ever known. They cooperate in everything, with the old teaching the young, and they share everything. Their survival depends on it. They have a culture of their own, a religion of their own. And for the most part, they just want to be left in peace.  
   
“Werewolves like Greyback – they’re outliers. And if they’re radicalising some elements of the werewolf population, well, it’s no more than the wizarding population as a whole is being radicalised. There are certainly some werewolves who thrill to that call of violence, but there are at least as many others who just want to be left to get on with their own concerns. I’m not sure even I quite understood that, before this year.”  
   
Arthur gazed thoughtfully back at him. “I do see why Dumbledore sent you there,” he said. “These are things none of the rest of us would have been able to learn – we could never have got close enough to a werewolf community to do so. It’s a unique role you play for the Order, Remus.” Then he sighed. “I just wish it didn’t always have to be you.”  
   
“I’m glad of the opportunity,” Remus said softly, and as he said it he knew it was true. “I can’t say it’s always enjoyable, sleeping out of doors in all weather, but I’ve been learning…things I think I needed to learn.” About werewolves. About himself. “And there’s no great risk involved, not now I’ve been accepted by the pack.”  
   
Would that remain true, though? he wondered. What might happen if the younger pack members’ resentments roiled up to the point of open rebellion? Or, much worse, what if Fenrir Greyback came calling, to poach new recruits for his own pack by brute force? As one of the few werewolves to have been turned by Greyback but escape his clutches, Remus would be a particular target. Greyback was possessive of those he considered his own.  
   
Shaking himself free of that dark thought, Remus asked, “And the Order? Everyone’s all right?” If something terrible had happened to someone close to Remus, surely Molly would have told him straight away. But still it would be a relief to hear it said out loud that they were all still safe.  
   
Arthur nodded grimly. “We’re hanging in there.” He frowned at the tabletop. “Tonks, too. She had quite a coup up in Hogsmeade, arrested two men who were storing Dark objects for the Death Eaters. She’s one of the few in the Ministry really taking initiative.”  
   
Remus felt tightness in his throat. Yes, that sounded very much like Tonks. It would be desperately good to see her, but he knew he didn’t dare. Too much longing lay in that direction, too much temptation to go back on his word. He would have to admire her strength and tenacity from afar.  
   
He and Arthur talked a little longer, slowly draining their drinks down to the dregs, but Remus was feeling the inexorable pull of weariness. He was accustomed to sleeping and waking in rhythm with the sun, as the pack did, and it was long past nightfall.  
   
Climbing the stairs to Bill’s old room, guiltily glad to have a warm bed waiting for him, Remus thought of the pack, bedded down in their draughty lean-to on the moor. It wasn’t right that only he should get to spend the night in a warm house. It was mere accidents of personal history that had brought him here, to a life among human friends, rather than having been forced to flee society at a young age as so many of the others had done.  
   
Not that his feeling guilty about it did anyone any good.  
   
Remus pushed open the bedroom door and let muscle memory guide him, reaching out to find the little lamp that stood on a table by the door. He tapped it with his wand, grateful for these small opportunities to do casual magic.  
   
The room filled with soft light, and with it the memories flooded in. This was where he had slept during those terrible first weeks after Sirius’ death. He had lain on this bed and seen Sirius falling through the veil in the Department of Mysteries again and again and again.  
   
Remus had stared at that incongruously cheery picture on Bill’s ceiling, of a pretty witch waving from a flying carpet, and reached his decision to break things off, finally and completely, with Tonks, no matter how much it hurt to do so.

It had been the right decision.  
  
It hadn’t ceased to hurt.  
   
Remus closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again.  
   
He set his rucksack down beside the neatly made bed. Molly had even laid out a set of pyjamas for him, Remus saw with a pang of gratitude and of something of less identifiable – nostalgia, perhaps, for what it had been like once upon a time to have a home.  
   
Well, three nights of a borrowed home were enough of a gift, more than he had any right to expect. Remus changed his clothes, slid into the bed, and let exhaustion claim him. His last thoughts as he drifted off were ones of warmth and gratitude.  
   
Remus woke early the next morning and found no one else yet awake, so he took himself out for a long walk over the brittle winter hills. After so long living outdoors, being out in the invigorating air felt familiar and right, the best way to spend a cold but clear morning.  
   
By the time Remus got back to the Burrow, breakfast was in full swing, along with the usual happy cacophony of the Weasley family. Arthur had left for work, but everyone else was present: Molly dishing out sausages from a frying pan of heroic proportions; Bill and Fleur cuddling cosily together; Ginny giggling to herself over some mischief she was playing on Fred and George; Harry and Ron sharing a good-natured laugh.  
   
Hermione would not be here this year – Arthur had warned Remus as much and suggested it might be best not to mention her in front of Ron. Mentally reviewing what he’d observed over the years of that previously platonic friendship, Remus decided he wasn’t surprised at this new development, nor even that it had hit a rocky patch. But he hoped Hermione wasn’t spending too lonely a Christmas.  
   
Harry spotted Remus first. “Professor Lupin!” he called, looking pleased. Then he added, unnecessarily, “We’re having breakfast.”  
   
“Hello, Harry,” Remus said, flooded with warmth at the mere sight of him. It would be worth any amount of hardship to see Harry like this, smiling and surrounded by friends. Remus greeted all the children in turn, then said, “Molly, goodness, can I help you with that?”  
   
“No, no, Remus, have a seat and tuck in. It’s just these last sausages and they’re nearly done.”  
   
So Remus sat and ate his fill, and let the tumult of cheerful conversation wash around him like a friendly sea.  
   
After the meal, Fred and George set off for the village and Bill and Fleur for points unknown, but presumably somewhere away from Molly’s watchful eye. Harry and Ron, though, stayed in the house, Harry seeming determined to stay put and cause as little trouble as possible. He was certainly a more serious boy these days than the thirteen-year-old Remus had first met. And Ron was a good friend, willing to stay indoors on a clear, brisk day for Harry’s sake.  
   
Remus stopped at the kitchen doorway and tried again to offer his help to Molly, who was immersed already in preparations for dinner, but she waved him away. Ginny appeared behind Remus’ elbow and said, “It’s no use, Professor Lupin. She’s got a particular way of doing everything, and you’ve got no hope of ever getting it right _even_ if you’ve had an entire lifetime of practice.”  
   
“ _That’s_ hardly the reason,” Molly sniffed. “Remus, you’re our guest; go relax for once and enjoy yourself. Besides, the boys prepared the vegetables for me yesterday, so there’s not much left to do. Truly, Remus, go sit by the fire, or see what the boys are up to. _You_ , however, young lady, can help with the stuffing.”  
   
Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes conspiratorially in Remus’ direction, but she went into the kitchen without complaint.  
   
Smiling at the sight of the two of them working together, Remus left the kitchen for the living room, where Ron and Harry were ensconced in two comfortably tattered armchairs, playing chess. Pausing in the doorway, Remus saw that Ron was clearly winning. A number of Harry’s pieces lay scattered around the boys’ feet, shouting a cacophony of unhelpful commentary in their piping little voices.  
   
Harry glanced up and waved an arm wildly. “Professor Lupin! Please come help me here.”  
   
Remus glanced at Ron, sure he would object, but Ron just shrugged. “Why not.” He grinned. “It’s not like Harry’s going to be able to win, no matter what.”  
   
“Oi!” Harry protested, but he was smiling, and the sight tugged at Remus’ chest in the best possible way.  
   
Remus crossed the room to them, still cautious about inflicting his presence on Harry if it was unwelcome. They’d hardly seen each other since the horrible night at the Ministry when Remus had bodily held Harry back from flinging himself through the veil after Sirius.  
   
Yet Harry, with his generous heart, didn’t seem to begrudge Remus his role in Sirius’ loss.  
   
“Here,” Harry said, stretching out an arm to pull a high-backed chair closer to the small table where the chessboard lay. “I’m losing, so anything you suggest will probably help.”  
   
“I’m no expert,” Remus warned, settling into the chair Harry had offered. “And I haven’t played chess in a while.”  
   
“You’re bound to be better than I am, professor,” Harry insisted. Remus could not seem to cure Harry of the habit of calling him _professor_ , although he was no one’s teacher now.  
   
Remus studied the board. “To start with,” he suggested, “try moving your bishop closer to your queen.”  
   
“That’s what _I_ said!” shouted an indignant discarded knight from the floor beneath the table.  
   
Rolling his eyes, Harry nudged the disgruntled knight away with the toe of his trainer and informed it, “ _You_ just kept shouting, ‘The bishop, you idiot!’ How was I supposed to know what that meant?”  
   
“A capable player would have understood!” the knight shrieked tinnily, from where it had landed under the drapes.  
   
Ron moved his own knight across the board and Harry winced, this time recognising the danger it posed. He looked to Remus hopefully. “Your rook, perhaps?” Remus suggested, and was amused to see Ron nod in approval, more concerned with improving Harry’s game than with winning.  
   
The morning passed amenably. Harry managed to win one of three games, then convinced Remus to take a turn against Ron, which Ron won, but narrowly. When Fred and George returned in the afternoon, Harry and the four youngest Weasleys exploded out to the garden for a dramatic mid-air snowball fight on brooms hastily fetched from the broomshed. Remus smiled to see Harry out there laughing and shouting with the best of them.  
   
Watching the airborne battle from the big window that looked out on the back garden, Remus was startled to turn and find that Fleur had slid noiselessly into the room. She came and joined him at the window.  
   
“Oh, sorry,” Remus said reflexively, shifting a step to the side to allow her more space.  
   
“You needn’t skeeter away from me,” Fleur said with a toss of her dainty head. It took Remus a moment to parse that phrase – oh, she’d said _skitter_. “Unlike some Eengleesh eembeciles, I am not afraid of werewolves.”  
   
“Oh – really?” Remus replied, startled into a banal response.  
   
“Do you know, een some cultures, werewolves are seen as protectors of children,” Fleur continued, her nostrils flaring expressively as she gazed out at the whooping and diving taking place in the air above the back garden. “Eet eez a very sacred magic, zis duty of watching over the young and keeping zem safe.” She cut her eyes sideways at Remus. “I believe you know somesing about zat, yes? I ‘ear you were a very good teacher, a few years ago at ‘Ogwarts.”  
   
“I did my best as a teacher,” Remus admitted. “But I don’t know that I did much in the way of keeping the children safe.” In fact, he’d done far worse, actively endangering the students that terrible night when he’d allowed the revelations of Sirius’ innocence and Peter’s guilt to distract him, the rising full moon catching him unawares on the open grounds of Hogwarts. Remus would never forgive himself for the harm he might have inflicted that night.  
   
“Oh, rubbish,” Fleur exclaimed, with another toss of her head. “Zis Eengleesh reticence, zis modesty, I do not think eet does any of you much good. Celebrate your successes! Break out the champagne! When I say, ‘I ‘ear you are a good teacher,’ you must say, ‘Why, sank you.’”  
   
Remus laughed in surprise. “And that would cure all our ills, would it? More celebration of our successes?”  
   
“Eet would be a good start,” Fleur said darkly. “A lack of confidence never won any wars.”  
   
Remus glanced over at her with surprised respect, before returning his gaze to the scene outside.  
   
The kids tumbled back inside in the late afternoon, red-cheeked and glowing. Ginny, in a fit of enthusiasm, set about transforming the living room into a veritable model of the British paper chain in its natural habitat. Fred, George, Ron and Harry seemed to think they were the only ones who knew the angel atop the Christmas tree was in fact a Stupefied garden gnome the twins had caught and kitted out in a frilly pink tutu. It amused Remus that they clearly thought this was a secret, given that he had seen it, and he knew Ginny had noticed as well. Sometimes, the boys were not as subtle as they thought they were. Remus, watching them from the doorway, smiled as he remembered James and Sirius getting up to similar hijinks.  
   
Arthur arrived home in time for dinner, a pleasant and relatively uneventful meal. (Fred and George played only one prank on Ginny, which Remus figured counted as a success in this family.) Crackers were pulled, jokes told, third helpings offered and accepted.  
   
Remus would have felt like an interloper at this family event, except that Molly clearly resented the addition of Fleur to the celebration, and seemed to cling to Remus’ presence as proof that this was a holiday of family _and guests_ , of whom Fleur only happened to be one.  
   
Remus understood Molly’s frustration with the disdainful way Fleur reacted to nearly everything that wasn’t Bill. But he’d also experienced how thoughtful Fleur could be, and suspected she was capable of being quite kind, once she’d settled into a place and stopped needing to project her self-perceived cultural superiority at everyone around her.  
   
Unfortunately, though, she hadn’t yet reached that point with the Weasleys. The family repaired to the living room to listen to Celestina Warbeck’s Christmas broadcast and the more Molly praised the music, the more Fleur made a point of talking over the songs.  
   
To be fair, the way Molly glared whenever she thought Fleur couldn’t see probably wasn’t making it any easier for Fleur to settle in. But you had to hand it to Fleur, Remus thought as he stretched his legs towards the merrily crackling fire and stared into its depths. Whatever else one might say about her, Fleur had decided what she wanted and fought for it. Which sounded a lot like –  
   
But such ruminations would get him nowhere. Tonks was better off without him, and that was that. Remus had chosen to sacrifice his own happiness in exchange for her welfare, and he would stick by that. He hoped she would move on and find someone better than him. He hoped it with a desperate ache of loss in his heart, but he meant it no less for that.  
   
Remus came back to his surroundings with a start when he heard Harry say, “Mr Weasley, you know what I told you at the station when we were setting off for school?” Remus turned towards them as Harry laid out for Arthur his suspicions about Draco Malfoy, and his belief that Severus Snape was trying to help him. “Snape made an Unbreakable Vow!” Harry exclaimed, as if this proved everything.  
   
There was a pause in their conversation as the song on the wireless reached a quiet passage and Arthur waited until the volume increased again to speak. “Has it occurred to you Harry, that Snape was simply pretending –” he began.  
   
Overlapping him in his eagerness to get his point across, Harry said, “Pretending to offer help, so that he could find out what Malfoy’s up to? Yeah, I thought you’d say that. But how do we know?”  
   
“It isn’t our business to know,” Remus said, turning to face Harry fully. “It’s Dumbledore’s business. Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us.”  
   
Remus knew what it was like to be wrongly suspected. He would not do Snape the same disservice without proof of guilt.  
   
“But just say – just say Dumbledore’s wrong about Snape –” Harry began to protest.  
   
“People have said it, many times,” Remus said. “It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore’s judgement. I do; therefore, I trust Severus.”  
   
In the end, it always came back to that – either you trusted Dumbledore and his obscure, far-sighted plans, or you didn’t. Remus, for many reasons both personal and professional, had chosen to trust.  
   
Harry’s gaze was piercing. “But Dumbledore can make mistakes. He says it himself. And you – do you honestly like Snape?”  
   
Remus thought of Snape taunting Sirius, even up to the very night Sirius had died, and felt the hurt of it in his chest. But for fairness’ sake he made himself think, too, of Sirius’ constant derision towards Snape, even as an adult, not to mention the years of senseless bullying Snape had endured from Sirius and James. These were human complexities Harry was still too young to understand.  
   
“I neither like nor dislike Severus,” Remus said. Then, to the scepticism blazing in Harry’s face: “No, Harry, I am speaking the truth. We shall never be bosom friends, perhaps; after all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there. But I do not forget that during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon.”  
   
“But he ‘accidentally’ let it slip that you’re a werewolf, so you had to leave!” Harry exclaimed, as touchingly indignant as if it had happened yesterday.  
   
“The news would have leaked out anyway,” Remus reminded him gently. Any reprieve from the stigma of his condition, Remus knew, was only ever temporary at best. “We both know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on me by tampering with the Potion. He kept me healthy. I must be grateful.”  
   
“Maybe he didn’t dare mess with the Potion with Dumbledore watching him!” In his righteous indignation, Harry was Sirius all over, and Remus felt a tiny smile tug at his lips.  
   
It felt good to be able to smile at Sirius’ memory.  
   
To Harry he said, “You are determined to hate him, Harry. And I understand; with James as your father, with Sirius as your godfather, you have inherited an old prejudice. By all means tell Dumbledore what you have told Arthur and me, but do not expect him to share your view of the matter; do not even expect him to be surprised by what you tell him. It might have been on Dumbledore’s orders that Severus questioned Draco.”  
   
Knowing Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy probably _was_ up to no good, and Dumbledore likely had five or six different simultaneous plans in play to neutralise the concern. If Snape was part of those plans, all the better. For all his pettiness, Snape came through when it mattered. He’d kept Remus’ secret throughout their remaining school years, and it wasn’t for lack of wanting to reveal it.  
   
Harry frowned, clearly ready to argue his point, but just then the song on the wireless ended with an ear-splitting high note. Molly applauded pointedly and Fleur commented in a loud “aside” to Bill, “Eez eet over? Thank goodness, what an ‘orrible –”  
   
Arthur jumped to his feet and hurried to intervene. “Shall we have a nightcap, then? Who wants eggnog?”  
   
Arthur bustled about pouring drinks for everyone; Molly discovered that Ginny had singed an eyebrow playing Exploding Snap and in fussing over her, forgot to be irritated with Fleur.  
   
“What have you been up to lately?” Harry asked Remus. He sounded so grown up in that moment, so much a bloke having a man-to-man chat with a mate, that Remus’ breath caught in his chest. _But this is Harry, not James,_ he reminded himself. _He doesn’t need to know your every worry and concern._  
   
“Oh, I’ve been underground,” Remus said. “Almost literally. That’s why I haven’t been able to write, Harry; sending letters to you would have been something of a give-away.”  
   
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, and ah, yes, there was Lily, too, in the way his nose wrinkled up with concern.  
   
“I’ve been living among my fellows, my equals. …Werewolves,” Remus clarified, when Harry looked blank. Harry was like Tonks in that way. Never seemed to be able to remember that Remus’ lycanthropy was, in fact, quite a sticking point for most people. Unsure how much Harry knew about the allegiances of werewolves in the current war, Remus explained, “Nearly all of them are on Voldemort’s side. Dumbledore wanted a spy and here I was…ready-made.”  
   
That came out sounding unnecessarily bitter. Hadn’t he volunteered to go? Wasn’t he finally becoming a part of the pack, far more than he’d dared to hope? Being back in a warm home with these people he had missed must be making him soft.  
   
“I am not complaining,” he assured Harry. “It is necessary work and who can do it better than I? However, it has been difficult gaining their trust. I bear the unmistakeable signs of having tried to live among wizards, you see, whereas they have shunned normal society and live on the margins, stealing – and sometimes killing – to eat.”  
   
Remus had yet to see his own pacifistic pack harm a person, but he wasn’t naïve enough to believe it could never happen. If any of the pack’s members got backed into a tight corner or attacked, they would do what they had to do to survive.  
   
“How come they like Voldemort?” Harry wanted to know.  
   
How come indeed. A complex issue, but Remus tried to break it down to its simplest form. “They think that, under his rule, they will have a better life. And it is hard to argue with Greyback out there…”  
   
“Who’s Greyback?”  
   
Harry’s strange blend of tough savvy and startling innocence so often took Remus by surprise. But of course, why should Harry know anything of Greyback? He hadn’t grown up among wizards. He’d never heard the horror stories parents exchanged, the rumours children whispered.  
   
Remus felt his hands clench in his lap and forcibly steadied his breath. It was difficult, still, to talk about the werewolf who turned him without raw anger bleeding through. “You haven’t heard of him? Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He regards it as his mission in life to bite and to contaminate as many people as possible; he wants to create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards. Voldemort has promised him prey in return for his services. Greyback specialises in children…bite them young, he says, and raise them away from their parents, raise them to hate normal wizards. Voldemort has threatened to unleash him upon people’s sons and daughters; it is a threat that usually produces good results.” Remus paused, weighing whether the last piece of this story was something Harry needed to know. But to wonder that was to do Harry a disservice; Harry generally did well with being told the whole truth. So he said, “It was Greyback who bit me.”  
   
“What?” Harry exclaimed. “When – when you were a kid, you mean?”  
   
Remus took a moment, again, to steady himself, to find the part of him that could talk about this in a neutral tone. “Yes. My father had offended him. I did not know, for a very long time, the identity of the werewolf who had attacked me; I even felt pity for him, thinking he had had no control, knowing by then how it felt to transform. But Greyback is not like that. At the full moon he positions himself close to victims, ensuring that he is near enough to strike. He plans it all. And this is the man Voldemort is using to marshal the werewolves. I cannot pretend that my particular brand of reasoned argument is making much headway against Greyback’s insistence that we werewolves deserve blood, that we ought to revenge ourselves on normal people.”  
   
“But you are normal! You’ve just got a – a problem –”  
   
Remus laughed, touched by Harry’s expression of fierce protectiveness and indignation. “Sometimes you remind me a lot of James. He called it my ‘furry little problem’ in company. Many people were under the impression that I owned a badly behaved rabbit.”  
   
Just then, Arthur reached them in his rounds of distributing eggnog, and Remus accepted a glass, still smiling a little. For Harry, being a fiercely loyal friend really did seem to be a genetic trait.  
   
His own glass of eggnog now dangling distractedly in one hand, Harry leaned forward eagerly and took up a new subject. “Have you ever heard of someone called the Half-Blood Prince?”  
   
“The Half-Blood what?” Remus answered, baffled by this conversational turn.  
   
“Prince,” Harry repeated, watching Remus closely, as if he expected this to mean something to him.  
   
“There are no wizarding princes,” Remus told him with a smile. “Is this a title you’re thinking of adopting? I should have thought being the ‘Chosen One” would be enough.”  
   
“It’s nothing to do with me!” Harry retorted, indignant at the very idea, as Remus had known he would be. “The Half-Blood Prince is someone who used to go to Hogwarts, I’ve got his old Potions book. He wrote spells all over it, spells he invented. One of them was _Levicorpus_ –”  
   
“Oh, that one had a great vogue during my time at Hogwarts,” Remus said. What a fond and also exasperating memory. “There were a few months in my fifth year when you couldn’t move for being hoisted into the air by your ankle.”  
   
“My dad used it,” Harry said, his voice uncharacteristically flat. “I saw him in the Pensieve, he used it on Snape.”  
   
They’d arrived again at the schoolboy rivalry that refused to relinquish its hold, a generation later. “Yes, but he wasn’t the only one,” Remus assured Harry, because he looked so sad to think of his dad being thoughtless and cruel. Even if James _had_ been thoughtless and cruel, sometimes. “As I say, it was very popular…you know how these spells come and go…”  
   
“But it sounds like it was invented while you were at school.”  
   
“Not necessarily. Jinxes go in and out of fashion like everything else.” Remus glanced at Harry’s face, and at last he understood what this was really about. An old schoolbook, marked up by a clever past student, someone who might have gone to school at the same time as Remus, might conceivably have been a friend of Remus’… “James was a pure-blood, Harry,” he said, “and I promise you, he never asked us to call him ‘Prince’.”  
   
Caught out now, Harry asked plainly, “And it wasn’t Sirius? Or you?”  
   
“Definitely not.” A wizarding prince was the last thing Sirius would have wanted to be, and Remus himself was a half-blood but harboured no princely ambitions.  
   
“Oh,” Harry said. “I just thought – well, he’s helped me out a lot in Potions classes, the Prince has.” He gazed dejected into the fire and Remus ached for him. Harry so badly wanted a feeling of connection to his parents, and there was so little of it to be had.  
   
“How old is this book, Harry?” Remus asked, falling back as usual on helping with practical matters, since he could offer Harry little of what he really wanted.  
  
Harry looked up at him. “I dunno, I’ve never checked.”  
   
“Well, perhaps that will give you some clue as to when the Prince was at Hogwarts,” Remus suggested. A good puzzle always seemed to get Harry and his friends going.  
   
“Yeah, I could do,” Harry said, and his expression brightened a little.  
   
That was good. There was so little Remus could give Harry. For that matter, there was so little he could give any of the people he cared about. But it was Christmas Eve, and those Remus cared about were safe, and that was enough. It would have to be enough.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, there really is folklore that has werewolves as protectors of children, rather than dangerous predators... I wished so much that Remus, with all his self-recrimination, could know about that. So I was very pleased when Fleur turned up and offered to be the character to show that viewpoint to him!
> 
> AND: 
> 
> Dear readers, here's a rare chance to be involved in the creation process of this story! (Rare not because I don't value input – I do! – but simply because this story is about 98% written already, so there's not that much to still have input on...) 
> 
> I am still struggling with this middle bit of the story. The first half of "Raise Your Lantern High" is fairly balanced between Remus' and Tonks' storylines, and the latter part is, too. It's just in these middle few chapters that there's a distinct lack of Tonks, and not for lack of me trying! There is just so much canonical stuff to cover on Remus' side – since we actually see him at the Burrow in canon – that Tonks' storyline suffers in comparison. I need to add more Tonks in, I haven't yet figured out how, and I'm opening this brainstorming session to the world!
> 
> What do you wish we could have seen of Tonks during the winter of HBP? Is there a character you'd like to see her interact with? Moody? Kingsley? Luna?? 
> 
> For reference, here are some things that are already written and you WILL see in the next couple chapters:  
> – Tonks visits her parents for Christmas  
> – Tonks visits her friend Ariadne  
> – a brief two-character run-in I won't spoil for you  
> – New Year’s Eve with the Aurors  
> – Tonks does Auror-ly things like fight off Dementors  
> – Tonks talks to a bookseller (not the dodgy one!)
> 
> That may sound like a lot, but almost all of it happens in Chapter 13. And then Tonks' involvement in Chapter 14 can pretty much be summed up as "Tonks continues to feel frustrated that there's so little she can do to fight Voldemort."
> 
> I want more Tonks! Do you want more Tonks? What would you like to see of Tonks in Chapter 14?
> 
> (Relatedly, I have been diligently posting one chapter a week, but will probably have to drop down to one chapter every two weeks, just for a couple chapters, so I have enough time to write new material for Chapter 14.)


	13. Coming Together and Moving Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everybody who weighed in on the "what scenes/characters should I add to Chapter 14" question, in comments here and on LJ and FFN! This chapter is a week later than usual because I needed to buy myself some extra time to work on new material for Chapter 14; same for next chapter (no chapter next week, new chapter in two weeks), then it will be back to once a week updates.

 

 _We had something good, it did not last_  
_Let’s not be constantly reliving the past_  
  
_–Markéta Irglová, Your Company_  
  
  
Remus woke early on Christmas morning and went to the window of his borrowed bedroom to peer out at the Devon countryside. A low fog hung over the hills in the predawn gloom and frost covered the grass, making the whole world appear cold and still, as if every tree and blade of grass had frozen into place. When Remus returned his attention to the inside of the room, he spotted a large, lumpy, paper-wrapped package on the floor at the foot of the bed.  
  
He stared at it.  
  
Surely – surely it had been understood that they would not exchange presents? He’d come straight here from living in the wild, there was no way he would have had an opportunity to get anyone gifts. And if he couldn’t give, he didn’t wish to receive.  
  
Hesitantly, Remus bent down to retrieve the package. It was lightweight, at least. Surely nothing too expensive. Carefully, he peeled away the Spello-tape and folded back the plain brown paper. Inside, neatly folded, was a thick jumper, soft to the touch, in a rich shade of forest green. Pinned to it was a note in Molly’s handwriting:  
  
_You mustn’t consider this a gift, Remus, or feel the need to give anything in return; I was knitting for all the family anyway, and thought you could do with something warm. Be a dear and take it with you. I’ll rest easier knowing you’ve got an extra layer._  
_Merry Christmas from all of us!_  
_Molly, Arthur, and all the family_  
  
Remus blinked down at it. Then, gently, he set the note aside and unfolded the jumper. As he did so, several smaller somethings fell out. Remus looked down to see three pairs of knitted socks, perfectly matched in colour to the jumper, scattered around his feet.  
  
He sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed, jumper in hand, and laughed silently. Oh, Molly. The pack were going to delight in teasing him for his matching jumper and socks, and Remus didn’t mind in the least. What a kind and practical gift.  
  
And in such a rich shade of green…  
  
Remus’ smile faded. He could picture the story behind this all too well: Molly asking Tonks what colour Remus might like for his jumper; Tonks stoically trying not to let her emotions show as she told Molly she thought Remus might quite like green. He smoothed a hand over the soft wool, feeling guilt once again, at the thought of Tonks choosing this colour for him.  
  
Then, determinedly, Remus scooped up the socks from the floor and stowed them in his rucksack, slipped the jumper over his head and found it as wonderfully warm as it looked. Thus attired, Remus descended the stairs and found Molly – where else? – already hard at work in the kitchen.  
  
He poked his head around the doorway and said, “Molly – thank you so much for this.”  
  
Molly turned and her face lit up. “It fits, then?”  
  
“Perfectly. I can’t thank you enough.”  
  
She waved her hand at him. “With so many to knit for, what’s one more? I’m just glad if it’s something you can wear.” She beamed. “And you look dashing, too.”  
  
Remus blinked, not accustomed to being called “dashing.” Then he exclaimed, “Molly, really, won’t you let me help you with the cooking at all?”  
  
Molly looked about to protest, then hesitated. “How are you at vegetables?”  
  
Remus smiled. “What do you need?”  
  
Molly’s glance flew around the ordered chaos of her kitchen. “Could I put you in charge of the side dishes? The sprouts with chestnuts, and perhaps the cauliflower in cream sauce?”  
  
“It would be my pleasure,” Remus said, glad to be of use at last. He took up a place at the worktop beside Molly and they spent an agreeable morning preparing vegetables. He considered it a high mark of approval when Molly stopped hovering watchfully at his shoulder.  
  
Lunch was again a large, jolly affair. Molly wore a hat and necklace the twins had given her, a touchingly grown-up gesture from the two children who had given her the most headaches in the course of their growing up. Everyone wore what the kids referred to as “Weasley jumpers” – all except Fleur, Remus saw with a wince. He hoped something would soon come along to shake Molly and Fleur out of their mutual antagonism.  
  
Ron, who turned all elbows whenever his brother’s beautiful fiancée was around, upended the gravy boat. Bill had his wand out and the gravy back in place in the space of a moment, but Fleur, oblivious to a glare it earned her from Molly, commented, “You are as bad as zat Tonks. She is always knocking –”  
  
“I invited _dear_ Tonks to come along today,” Molly interrupted, punctuating her words by thumping another dish of carrots down on the table. “But she wouldn’t come. Have you spoken to her lately, Remus?”  
  
That brought another stab of guilt, and one of longing. And a small twist of annoyance at Molly, too, because she knew very well Remus hadn’t had a chance to talk to anyone, let alone Tonks. But he kept his voice pleasant. “No. I haven’t been in contact with anybody very much. But Tonks has got her own family to go to, hasn’t she?”  
  
“Hmmm,” Molly said, frowning at him. “Maybe. I got the impression she was planning to spend Christmas alone, actually.”  
  
Remus winced. That couldn’t have gone down well with Andromeda. And why had Tonks turned down Molly’s invitation? Was it because she knew Remus would be here, and thought trying to remain politely distant with each other at close quarters would be too painful? That thought brought more guilt. And wistfulness, too, at the mental image of Tonks here with them, sitting by the fire, accepting a glass of eggnog from Arthur, doing the funny faces the kids loved, smiling at Remus…  
  
No. Foolish even to imagine it.  
  
At the mention of Tonks, Harry turned to Remus and announced, cheerful and oblivious, “Tonks’ Patronus has changed its form. Snape said so, anyway. I didn’t know that could happen. Why would your Patronus change?”  
  
Remus swallowed a bite of turkey with difficulty. Why had no one told him this? Arthur had said Tonks was fine. A sudden Patronus change was _not_ a sign of being fine.  
  
“Sometimes… a great shock… an emotional upheaval…” he managed.  
  
An upheaval – perhaps Sirius’ death. Yes, that could be it. They had both been affected by his loss, and deep grief could cause significant magical change. No reason to assume this was another terrible thing that he, Remus, had done to her.  
  
“It looked big, and it had four legs,” Harry continued. “Hey… it couldn’t be –?”  
  
Before Harry could reach any damning conclusion, he was interrupted by an exclamation from Molly, who had stood from the table and was gazing out the kitchen window with her hand pressed to her heart. “Arthur –” she cried. “It’s Percy!”  
  
“ _What_?” Arthur exclaimed, turning to look.  
  
“Arthur, he’s – he’s with the Minister!” Molly added, baffled.  
  
Remus had barely a moment to wonder if Rufus Scrimgeour knew who and what Remus was, if his presence would cause Molly and Arthur trouble, and whether there was time for him to leave the room before the Minister entered, before Percy was already opening the door.  
  
A painful silence descended on the kitchen that had been so cheerful moments before. Then Percy said stiffly, “Merry Christmas, Mother.”  
  
“Oh, _Percy_ ,” Molly cried, and flung herself at him.  
  
Watching from the doorway with a manufactured expression of benevolence, Scrimgeour said, “You must forgive this intrusion. Percy and I were in the vicinity – working, you know – and he couldn’t resist dropping in and seeing you all.”  
  
Percy, standing with stony forbearance in his mother’s arms, had clearly wanted no such thing.  
  
But Molly, resolutely oblivious, invited the Minister to share their meal. The Minister demurred, but offered to stay long enough for Percy to catch up with the family – and then Scrimgeour singled out Harry with a request to show him around the garden in the meantime. There was no doubt which was the real reason for the unexpected visit, and which the mere pretence.  
  
Remus had half-risen from his seat, but Harry, passing on his way to the door, murmured, “It’s fine,” in a tone that was mature far beyond his years.  
  
“Wonderful!” Scrimgeour enthused. “We’ll just take a turn around the garden and then Percy and I’ll be off. Carry on, everyone!” With that, he shepherded Harry out the door.  
  
The silence lasted several long moments. Then, all at once, everyone was shouting, Arthur and Molly and Percy and Bill and Fred and George and Ron and Ginny, in a tumult of angry, overlapping noise.  
  
“How could you –”  
  
“You big prat –”  
  
“Well, _I_ wasn’t the one who –”  
  
“– dare waltz in here after not even a word –”  
  
“– supposed to be family!”  
  
“– would serve you _right_ for –”  
  
Molly was wringing her hands and exclaiming, “Oh, Percy, why did you wait so long to –”  
  
And even Bill, usually the most level-headed of the bunch, was shouting, “– could you _do_ that to Mum, do you even realise how –”  
  
Remus sank back in his chair, overwhelmed. A Weasley family argument was a force to be reckoned with. He hazarded a glance at Fleur, and even she was stunned into silence.  
  
The melee resolved itself first into several smaller, heated arguments all happening simultaneously, then eventually it was just Arthur shouting at Percy, which was more alarming still.  
  
“Fine, see if I care,” Percy snapped. “I’m _glad_ not to have to deal with this foolishness anymore.” He made to go, but before he could turn to the door, a blob of mashed parsnip caught him squarely on the left lens of his glasses.  
  
There was a split second of utter stillness.  
  
Then Percy shouted, “I’VE HAD IT WITH ALL OF YOU,” and stormed out of the house, bumping into Harry, who was on his way back in.  
  
Harry stood in the doorway and stared around the kitchen in confusion.  
  
“ _I_ did it,” Fred, George and Ginny all said simultaneously.  
  
“You can punish me if you want, I don’t care,” Fred said.  
  
“No, it was me! Look, it was from my fork!” George insisted.  
  
“I did it!” Ginny shouted. “And he deserved it, too!”  
  
Molly sank into her chair, tears rolling down her cheeks, and Arthur rested a shaking hand on her shoulder.  
  
“I, er –” Harry said, looking from one to another of them. “Scrimgeour just, er – yeah.” Wide-eyed, he closed the door behind him and slid back into his seat.  
  
Rallying, Molly asked in a watery voice, “Would anyone like more stuffing?”  
  
– – – – –  
  
Tonks expected a dressing down when she arrived at her parents’ house even later in the evening than she’d promised, when she was already coming only for the last bit of the holiday, the evening of Christmas Day. But her mother opened the door and simply folded Tonks into a hug.  
  
Tonks remembered her father saying, months ago now, _You’re not the only one who’s recently lost her favourite cousin_. She bit back the defensive excuses she’d stored up, and hugged her mother back.  
  
Christmas dinner was quiet, just the three of them, but it was very _them_ , too. Tonks’ parents asked about her work, her dad made bad puns, and her mum responded with that arch of her eyebrow that meant, _You are a ridiculous human being, but I love you anyway._  
  
Sleeping in her childhood bedroom that night felt strange. Tonks was 23, which, yes, thank you, she was perfectly aware was not exactly old, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her life had been moving forward at an exhilarating pace, full of ever more wonderful people and adventures, and now it had screeched to a stop.  
  
What had changed? Was it the loss of Sirius and the way his death had driven home how precarious all of it was – her friends, her work, the Order? Or had her fatal mistake been falling for Remus, placing too much hope in her ability to get past his carefully constructed defences? Or was it simply the war, the endless war, and the way nothing they did seemed to make any difference?  
  
All she really knew was that this time last year she’d been palling around the Grimmauld Place house with all her favourite people, and now here it was Christmas again, and she was alone in her childhood bedroom at her parents’ house.  
  
Remus was at the Burrow, Molly had said, and that was a small mercy, that he wasn’t out somewhere in the cold at Christmas. Tonks tried to be grateful for that.  
  
The next morning, she sat with the quilted bedspread pulled up around her shoulders and gazed out the frost-edged window at the tidy houses all lined up netly along the quiet lane. To her parents, Tonks always complained how boring the village was, but there was something comforting, too, about the familiarity of this particular view out of this particular window.  
  
When Tonks threw on clothes and went downstairs, she found her dad flipping pancakes and her mum brewing coffee. Tonks stumbled coming into the kitchen and caught herself against the back of a chair. Twenty-three years, and she still consistently mis-estimated the width of that doorway. Clearly, some things never changed. She saw her mother’s eyes flick to her plain brown hair, then away again. Neither of her parents commented on her appearance.  
  
“Perfect timing!” her dad declared cheerfully. “The pancakes are almost ready.” It was their own little family tradition, having pancakes for breakfast on Boxing Day and making them Muggle-style, no magic. In Tonks’ admittedly biased opinion, her dad made the best pancakes anywhere.  
  
The rest of Boxing Day morning they devoted to magical puzzles. Puzzle-solving was one of the few pastimes all three of the Tonkses could agree on – given that, when you came down to it, they were three _very_ different people. Tonks’ mother waved a small table and three chairs into the centre of the living room with a graceful flick of her wand, and Tonks’ dad set out an intricate puzzle of a design Tonks hadn’t seen before. “This is the current favourite around these parts,” he told her, grinning.  
  
It was a three-dimensional puzzle with tiny interlocking pieces made of different types of wood, which had to match up precisely in order to form a complete wooden ball. It required knowledge of wand lore, to know which woods would tolerate resting side by side, and precise spell-casting, for the delicate wandwork of manoeuvring the pieces into place.  
  
Tonks’ father, especially, had always liked this sort of puzzle. Tonks harboured a theory that he’d seen something like it in his earliest days as a wide-eyed Muggle kid new to the wizarding world, maybe even on his first day on the Hogwarts Express, and forever afterwards magical puzzles had represented to him all that he loved about this strange world he’d adopted as his own. She could so easily picture her dad as a sweet, eager first-year, determined to learn everything there was to know about the magical world.  
  
The three of them made a good team for tackling this particular puzzle, it turned out. Tonks’ dad was good with the fiddly wandwork of slotting the pieces together, her mum had an astonishing memory for the details of wood and wand lore, and Tonks herself had good spatial sense when it came to arranging objects, for all that she tended to be a walking disaster when it was herself she was trying to arrange in space. They fell into an easy rhythm, her mum holding up each piece to examine it, and Tonks and her dad taking turns fitting them into the wooden shape that hovered above the table, slowly growing from a chaotic mass to a recognisable sphere.  
  
Tonks had worried her parents would use the morning’s activity as an opportunity to grill her about her life, but to her relief they kept the conversation to questions like, “Now, was it oak and ash that don’t tolerate each other during winter months, or is that oak and yew?” Her dad told jokes and her mum told when-Nymphadora-was-small-and-incorrigible stories, and for once nobody talked about the war. To Tonks, it was a needed respite.  
  
When they finished the puzzle, Tonks slotting in the last tricky, jagged sliver of walnut wood that completed the ball, her dad crowed with delight and her mum smiled, and Tonks felt a sudden, powerful nostalgia for this feeling of being home, something she hadn’t known she was missing until she saw it. It wasn’t something she admitted often, but it was nice to be back in her parents’ house.  
  
But she was glad, too, to leave the quiet village in the afternoon, Apparate to London and knock at the door to Ariadne’s flat, already anticipating the good cheer she would find inside. Two things Tonks knew she could always expect at Ariadne’s: teetering piles of books in every corner, and lots of bright colours and warmth.  
  
Ariadne flung open the door and exclaimed, “Happy Christmas!” She pulled Tonks inside the flat enthusiastically. “Come in, come in, and please tell me that’s not a cake in that box. I _told_ you not to bring anything.”  
  
Tonks grinned. “You be the one who tries stopping my mum next time, then. It’s that dark-chocolate-and-espresso thing you’ve always been so mad about.”  
  
“Ooh, anything from your mum is bound to be delicious. Please thank her from me.” Ariadne relieved Tonks of the box, then took her cloak and hung it on a hook by the door.  
  
“Hello,” said another voice, and Tonks turned to see, standing in the kitchen doorway, what could only be Ariadne’s bloke, a young man with reddish hair and a kind-looking face.  
  
“Wotcher!” Tonks went over to shake his hand.  
  
“Tonks, this is Damien,” Ariadne said, sounding almost shy. “Damien, this is my oldest friend, Nymphadora Tonks, but –”  
  
“ _Don’t call me Nymphadora_ ,” Tonks and Ariadne finished in unison, bursting into laughter. Damien smiled politely along with them.  
  
“Sorry, old joke,” Ariadne said. “Although, not actually a joke. Seriously, don’t call her Nymphadora, she’ll hex you.”  
  
 “I’m really, really glad to meet you,” Tonks said.  
  
“Same,” Damien said. “We’re glad you could come.”  
  
Ariadne smiled up at him, and he squeezed her to his side and smiled back. Looking at them, Tonks felt a strange constriction in her chest. _That’s what it’s supposed to look like_ , she thought. _None of this tortured star-crossed lovers mess._ _Merlin, I’ve been such an idiot._  
  
“Come on into the kitchen!” Damien said. “We’re just finishing up the cooking.”  
  
Ariadne got out a bottle of red wine and poured a glass for each of them, while Damien checked on something in the Muggle-style oven, waving his wand at it in a complicated pattern of the sort Tonks had given up on ever mastering. Cookery magic, so much harder than nice, normal battle spellwork.  
  
As the two of them leaned together and conferred about whatever was in the oven, Tonks poked her head back through the open doorway to the small living room. There was something different about the flat, visible in a dozen tiny telltale signs… This wasn’t just Ariadne’s flat anymore. Damien quite evidently lived here too. Tonks stared, amazed. How did something this important happen so fast?  
  
She ducked back into the kitchen and said, “All right, you two, lay it on me. Let’s have the old ‘how we met’ story.”  
  
Damien looked up from his cookery and smiled. “I work for a magical research institute – the Wenlock Institute, don’t know if you’ve heard of it. We do Arithmancy and runes, mostly.”  
  
Tonks blinked. Yes, she had heard of it, and that was some seriously high-level research.  
  
“Anyway, my boss needed something from the Archives, and she sent me over to find it. It turned out the book we needed was being restored, and when I went down to Preservation and Restoration, what did I find but the most beautiful, clever, charming witch I’d ever laid eyes on…”  
  
“Oh, you,” Ariadne said, pink-cheeked and pleased.  
  
“And that was _before_ she opened her mouth and started saying all these bogglingly intelligent things about books and preservation spells,” Damien grinned.  
  
“Well, and this one bowled me over with the super-brain research he’s doing,” Ariadne said. “Seriously, Tonks, it makes even the stuff I did in seventh-year Arithmancy look like basic arithmetic.” She smiled and leaned up to kiss Damien’s cheek. “Plus, he cooks.”  
  
And despite the wistfulness lurking in her own heart, Tonks smiled too, glad to see her friend so happy.  
  
Over dinner, Tonks and Ariadne talked a mile a minute, catching up on everything from the last weeks, and Damien smiled and let them have at it. Later, all three of them went out for a brisk walk in the London chill, then came back for a drink at the flat. Then it was already time for Tonks to return to Hogsmeade.  
  
“No chance I can convince you to stay the night?” Ariadne asked wistfully.  
  
Tonks shook her head. “Sorry. I’m on call tonight and I need to be there in case anything happens. Honestly, I’m lucky to have got away even this long.”  
  
“Come any time,” Ariadne said. “You know I mean that.”  
  
“I know,” Tonks said, ducking her head in appreciation. Then, while Damien was occupied with fetching her cloak for her, she leaned in and whispered to Ariadne, “And you tell me the moment you set a date for the wedding, you hear?”  
  
Ariadne blushed, then smiled and said, “Yeah. Will do.”  
  
They both waved to her from the door of the flat, as Tonks walked away down the corridor, filled with a weird, swirling mixture of deep happiness for Ariadne and an undeniable melancholy on her own behalf, wondering why, _why_ , she had had to go and fall for the world’s most difficult yet frustratingly lovable man.  
  
– – – – –  
  
Arthur was at work, but Molly saw Remus off when he left on the morning after Boxing Day. Emotions had been running high in the Weasley household since Percy’s disastrous visit, and tears threatened to spill from Molly’s eyes as she hugged Remus hard and pressed a packet of sandwiches into his hand, where he stood in the back doorway of the Burrow. Wiping impatiently at her cheeks, she admonished, “Take care of yourself, Remus.”  
  
It had done Remus such good to spend these days with the Weasleys, and to see Harry healthy and safe – if still prone to reckless gestures of loyalty, such as declaring his defiance directly to the face of the Minister for Magic. There really was something of Sirius in Harry, Remus thought with a twisting of grief in his gut. Harry, too, was loyal almost to the point of absurdity and unendingly brave.  
  
“And when you come back,” Molly said sternly, “you sort things out with Tonks, do you hear me? Life is too short to spend it apart from the people we care about.”  
  
“I –” Remus began, flabbergasted.  
  
“I know you have objections, but frankly, Remus, I think you’re taking a ridiculous line on this. She cares about you and I know you care about her. That’s what matters.”  
  
“Molly, really, I –”  
  
“Now, go on,” Molly said, shooing him out the door. “Give our best to Dumbledore.”  
  
“I –” Remus gave up trying to explain himself and instead said, “Thank you for everything, Molly. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your hospitality.”  
  
“Oh, go on now,” she said, going pink in the cheeks. “It’s our pleasure. We’re delighted to have you.” Then she gave Remus a sharp look. “Did you remember to pack your socks?”  
  
Remus – who was wearing Molly’s jumper under his cloak as well as one pair of the socks, with the other two pairs stowed in his rucksack – managed to quell the impulse to gently tease, _Yes, Mum_.  
  
“All present and accounted for,” he said. “Thank you for those, too. I’ll be very grateful for them on cold nights.”  
  
“Good, good,” Molly said, the tears again threatening to spill. “And you’re welcome here any time, Remus, I mean it.”  
  
He nodded his thanks, then walked to the edge of the property. With a last glance back at Molly and the Burrow, Remus turned on the spot and Apparated to Hogwarts for his meeting with Dumbledore.  
  
Entering through the boar-topped columns that flanked the gates to the school grounds, Remus felt a familiar tug of affection. Hogwarts was where he had spent the formative years of his life, the scene of so many of his happiest memories.  
  
Perhaps it was only his own nostalgia speaking, but it seemed to Remus that Dumbledore, too, wore an expression best described as _fond_ , as Remus stepped into the headmaster’s office. Like a proud grandparent pleased to see one of his own drop by.  
  
As Remus sat in the chair across from him, Dumbledore waved a hand – his healthy hand, not the one that had been spell-damaged – and at once a steaming pot of tea sat on the desk between them. Remus blinked. Even after years of watching casual, impeccable magic from Dumbledore, it was still impressive.  
  
“So, Remus,” Dumbledore said, once he’d poured them both a lightly lemon-flavoured black tea blend. “How does your work proceed?”  
  
 “Surprisingly well,” Remus told him. “I’m not fully accepted by the pack, but neither have I been rejected, despite the fact that they know I’ve lived among humans, in the ‘city’.”  
  
“The city.” Dumbledore repeated, chuckling appreciatively. “A term referring to wizarding settlements of any size, I suppose?”  
  
Remus nodded. “Even a place the size of Hogsmeade. Or Hogwarts, for that matter.” Although in some ways, Hogwarts was indeed a city of its own.  
  
Dumbledore listened as Remus outlined the pack’s structure and hierarchies, how its members all pitched in for their shared survival, the views they held about the wizarding world.  
  
“And in this war?” the headmaster asked gravely. “Where do they stand?”  
  
“Most simply want to stay out of it. On the whole, they find my views foolish. But I’m concerned about some of the younger members of the pack, who are drawn to the power that werewolves like Greyback claim Voldemort will offer them. I don’t see a few hot-headed young werewolves posing much danger to the course of the war, but I do see them getting hurt in the process. I don’t know how much good I can do by being there, but I can try my best.” He set his teacup down and looked across the desk. “Given what I’ve told you, do you wish me to stay with the pack a while longer?”  
  
“Do _you_ wish to stay?” Dumbledore countered.  
  
Remus considered the question with the weight it deserved. He wanted to answer honestly, not just with a reflexive declaration that he would do whatever was necessary for the Order.  
  
“Yes,” he said. “I’d like to stay. It feels like the right thing to do.”  
  
Dumbledore gave a slow, pleased smile that made Remus feel as if he’d unwittingly passed a very tricky Transfiguration exam.  
  
“I’m pleased to hear it,” the headmaster said, “and I think you are correct. A little more contact between the ‘city’ and the country would surely be of benefit to both.”  
  
Remus nodded. “Then it would be my honour. I’ll get in touch with you if I find any among the pack who would be willing to talk with the Order. Although I admit that’s hard to imagine at the moment.”  
  
There was one more thing he needed to ask; Dumbledore seemed to sense this and waited for Remus to speak.  
  
Finally Remus said, “This too seems impossible to imagine, but if there were ever a case in which the pack decided they would be willing to send a child to be educated at a school of magic… Would you consider accepting that child at Hogwarts?”  
  
Dumbledore smiled gently. “Of course.”  
  
Remus remembered the sorrow of being eleven years old and knowing he could never attend Hogwarts as normal wizarding children did. Then the rapturous joy when this professor had appeared at his family’s door and said Remus could come to school after all.  
  
“Thank you,” he said to Dumbledore, and he meant it in so many ways.  
  
Remus left the castle after their meeting and was nearing the bottom of the long drive when he saw someone approaching the gates from outside.  
  
He looked again – it was Tonks.  
  
He saw the precise moment when she, too, realised it was him. A tiny hitch caught Tonks’ step, but she kept walking. She reached the gates, pressed her palm to the metal and murmured an unlocking spell. The gates swung open, and Remus and Tonks were face to face.  
  
“Wotcher, Remus,” Tonks said. Her voice sounded light, but her eyes were locked on him.  
  
Remus’ throat felt tight as he answered, “Hello, Dora.”  
  
How had he failed to predict this might happen? He knew Tonks was stationed here in Hogsmeade. He knew she sometimes visited the school.  
  
Tonks wrapped her arms around herself, and her eyes were big in her tired face. She looked so weary. Tonks was not a person who was meant to look this weary, with her hair hanging limp and brown and shadows under her eyes. This worn-down way she looked, was this, too, a thing Remus could have prevented, if he hadn’t made the wrong choices every step along the way?  
  
“It’s good to see you,” Remus said. Because, despite everything, it was.  
  
Tonks nodded minutely. “You too. Are you…are you all right?”  
  
How could he begin to answer that? Months of cold, of struggle, of barely daring to hope the pack might eventually accept him, months of missing Tonks’ bright presence, no matter how often he told himself he had no right to do so. But to Tonks, whom he should not burden with all these woes, Remus only said, “I’m all right. And you?”  
  
Tonks shrugged, her shoulders loose and listless beneath her winter cloak. “Yeah, all right.”  
  
Remus found it hard to believe Tonks was really right here in front of him, so close he could see her warm breath in the cold air. Hard to believe she was here, and all they were doing was exchanging small talk. “Next thing you know, we’ll be talking about the weather,” he blurted.  
  
Tonks’ eyebrows arched in surprise, and for a moment it was back, that affectionate ease that had always been there between them regardless of everything else, as Tonks’ lips quirked in an almost-smile. Then Remus saw the sadness overtake her again.  
  
“Are you leaving?” Tonks asked in a rush. “I’m sure you’re going back to the pack, but when? Right now?” She hugged her arms more tightly around herself, as if already anticipating his answer.  
  
Remus nodded. What could he say?  
  
He saw so many questions forming, and how Tonks pushed them back. She didn’t ask where, or why, or how long. “I’m on duty,” she said instead, an ache audible in her voice. “I’m here for a quick check-in at the castle, then I’ve got to get back to the village. I can’t stay.”  
  
Remus nodded again, helpless between all he wished to say and all he couldn’t say.  
  
“Well, anyway –” Tonks said, still hugging herself. Still watching his face.  
  
“Yes,” Remus said. He didn’t even know what he was answering.  
  
Tonks hesitated, then unfurled herself and reached out to squeeze his arm.  
  
“Okay,” she said. “Take care of yourself. Please.”  
  
“You too,” Remus said. “Please.”  
  
Tonks released his arm and stepped past him, through the gate, into the school grounds. Remus stepped through the gate to the opposite side, away from the school. He turned back to look at Tonks, as if he could take some part of her with him if he studied her closely enough.  
  
She gazed back at him, biting her lip. “Bye, Remus,” she said. Then Tonks swung the gates into place between them. She checked that the protective spells were in place, gave an awkward wave and turned away towards the castle. Remus watched her walk up the drive, tightly curled into herself, arms tucked inside her sleeves against the cold.  
  
“Goodbye, Dora,” he whispered, although she was too far away to hear him. “Please, please, keep yourself safe.”  
  
– – – – –  
  
“Bloke over there’s eyeing you, Tonks,” Savage chuckled.  
  
“What?” Tonks spun around to look where Savage was indicating with a thrust of his chin, but she still couldn’t see what he was on about.  
  
It was New Year’s Eve and the four Hogsmeade Aurors were clustered in a back corner of the Three Broomsticks. Proudfoot had been on duty earlier and Dawlish didn’t have a shift until the next evening, but some sense of professional solidarity had drawn them together to raise a glass as midnight approached. Even Savage, who was on duty for the evening, had dropped by, since much of the Hogsmeade population he was meant to be watching out for was there at the pub anyway.  
  
The pub was warm and loud, packed with bodies and conversation. After so many months of people moving fearfully and unobtrusively through public spaces, some unspoken consensus seemed to have decreed this to be the one night when the villagers could all come out and have a few drinks with their friends, carry out cheerfully loud conversations, shout at one another about unimportant matters over the general hubbub of the room. Madam Rosmerta’s bright curls could be seen bobbing to and fro in the crowd, as she darted expertly here and there with laden drinks trays.  
  
The air reeked of beer and whisky, laced with the warmer notes of spilled butterbeer. The Wizarding Wireless was playing somewhere in the background, barely audible under the roar of conversation.  
  
Here in the Aurors’ corner, Dawlish and Proudfoot were engaged in a heated debate over… honestly, Tonks wasn’t sure what. She’d lost the thread around the time they’d started citing long since overturned bits of legislation from the 16th century, triumphantly one-upping each other in their arcane knowledge. Aurors were such nerds when it came to wizarding law.  
  
“Bloke with his elbow on the bar,” Savage insisted. “The one who looks away whenever you look over.”  
  
“Then how am I supposed to know he’s looking at me?” Tonks demanded, more snappishly than she’d intended. The Aurors were good blokes, truly, but in a pub with her colleagues was not exactly how Tonks would have chosen to spend her New Year’s Eve.  
  
For a heady, brief time last year, her life had felt so full of promise: meaningful work for the Order, a strong circle of friends with Sirius chief among them, and then, too, the strange and thrilling adventure that was getting to know Remus, growing more and more captivated by him as the layers of his polite defences peeled away.  
  
And now here she was, spending New Year’s Eve with Savage, Dawlish and Proudfoot.  
  
Savage’s unsubtle gesturing must have drawn the attention of the “bloke” in question, because now Tonks saw him look right at her – and realised it was the shop assistant from Scrivenshaft’s, the one Ariadne had insisted fancied Tonks. When he saw her looking in his direction, he gave a shy nod.  
  
Savage was still sniggering. “Gonna go chat him up? Or would that make your other fellow jealous?”  
  
Tonks felt her insides go cold. No, no, no one was supposed to know anything about Remus. For his safety, for everyone’s safety. “What other fellow?” she asked, pitching her voice very carefully with nonchalant unconcern.  
  
“Dumbledore!” Savage crowed. “The old codger’s sweet on you, remember?”  
  
“Dumbledore!” Proudfoot echoed, suddenly re-joining their conversation and at the same time accidentally letting slip the beer glass he’d been trying to levitate up and balance on his nose. Dawlish caught the glass for him – barely – before it hit the floor.  
  
Tonks’ normally serious colleagues had loosened up to an alarming degree under the influence of Firewhisky.  
  
“Old bat,” Proudfoot continued, nodding sagely. “Thinks ‘e knows better, eh? Better’n Aurors. Nobody knows better’n Aurors.”  
  
Tonks sighed. Yes, they’d arrived at that portion of the evening devoted to the erudite professional discourse of the inebriated.  
  
Warming to their topic, Dawlish and Proudfoot launched into an enthusiastic session of Dumbledore-bashing, but Tonks zoned them out, using the time instead to compose a list in her head of tasks she needed to do. With the time she’d spent away at Christmas, she’d somewhat neglected her self-assigned duty of dropping by all the shops and neighbours in Hogsmeade and keeping up with the running notes on her census list. It was time she got back to that work.  
  
Yes, that would be a good project for the new year, something to keep her occupied. Anything to keep her from dwelling on how her stomach had swooped when she’d seen a man standing inside the Hogwarts gates, then looked closer and seen that the man was _Remus_. He’d looked so gaunt standing there, all skin and bones and hard living. And like always, the sight of his maddening, dear face had turned Tonks instantly inside out. Clearly, her feelings for Remus hadn’t changed one iota.  
  
Damn it.  
  
The hands of the grandfather clock ticking away in one corner of the pub, inaudible under all the hubbub, had nearly reached midnight. With just a few minutes to go, Dawlish pushed away through the heaving crowd to fetch another round, returning with Gillywater for on-duty Savage and Firewhisky for the rest of them.  
  
“To the new year!” Savage shouted, raising his glass, and the others echoed him.  
  
As she raised her glass with her colleagues and counted down the last seconds to the coming new year, Tonks quietly vowed to herself, _No matter what, this year is going to be better than the last._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned above, it's going to be two weeks until I post the next chapter... Meanwhile, though, while you're waiting: There's a "missing scene" I wrote as a separate fic that takes place later in the day on Christmas at the Burrow, a conversation between Remus and Harry, where they talk, obliquely, about love and crushes... It would fall in the middle of this chapter, later in the day after the run-in with Percy and Scrimgeour: [A Conversation That's Not About Veela](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1126374).


	14. Questions and Offers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, everyone, for your patience as I took a little extra time so I could add new material to this chapter. From now on, we'll be back to a chapter a week.

 

 _Sometimes in the frozen nights I go roaming_  
_In the bed you used to share with me_  
_I wake in the field with the cold and the lonesome_  
_The moon’s the only face that I see_  
  
_–Josh Ritter, Wolves_

 

 

“Didn’t expect to see you here again,” said the Alpha.  
  
After once again concealing his wand outside the village, Remus had made his way across the snow-covered moor and found the pack much as he had left them, gathered around an evening fire at the doorway of the lean-to. He had gone straight to the Alpha, bowed his head in submissive greeting and waited for acknowledgement.  
  
Now, at the Alpha’s words, Remus could look up. Was that a spark of amusement in the man’s eyes? Because he didn’t look surprised to see Remus. If anything, he looked like a man pleased to have been proved right.  
  
“It seems your time with our pack is not quite finished,” the Alpha went on, his tone still somehow teasing. Then, more gently, he added, “Welcome back, Quiet.”  
  
“Thank you, Alpha.” Remus bowed again and stepped back.  
  
He looked around at the pack, and most of them nodded in acknowledgement. Little Joy gave him a grin. Remus found a seat by the fire on a log next to Ashmita, who offered him a hunk of bread. He took it with thanks, surprised at the fondness he felt as he looked around at this circle of werewolves.  
  
But it was clear within Remus’ first night and day back that all was not well. The tension he’d sensed before, the discontent of the younger ones, was more palpable than ever. Remus thought guiltily that he ought not to have left, even for those few days. But what could he have done, if he had been here? He ranked lower in the pack than even the teenagers.  
  
On his second day back, Remus was sent out with Ronan – Hardwood – to hunt for small game. Remus was as useless as he had ever been at hunting, but the Alpha seemed implacably determined to train Remus into a successful wild-living werewolf, no matter how long it took.  
  
Ronan looked pensive and talked little for most of the day. It was only as they were heading back, a hare slung over Ronan’s shoulder and the pale winter sun low in the sky although it was only mid-afternoon, that Ronan asked, looking at the ground in front of him rather than at Remus, “Have you ever killed person?”  
  
Remus bit back his startled response, calling up the teacher within himself instead. “No, I haven’t,” he said, keeping his voice calm and neutral. “Why do you ask?”  
  
Ronan scuffled his feet through the dusting of snow on the ground as they walked. “Just – I dunno. The others” – surely meaning Narun and Tamara and Adair – ”talk about it like it must be the greatest rush, you know, this incredible thrill of power, but I keep thinking, that’s a _person_ , right? Even if it’s only a Muggle, or some stupid bigoted wizard who hates us anyway. It’s –” He broke off, unsure. “Do you know what I mean?”  
  
“Yes,” Remus said, matching his walking pace to Ronan’s but avoiding the boy’s eyes, because Ronan seemed less uncomfortable in this conversation when he didn’t have to look at Remus directly. “I know exactly what you mean. I would never deliberately take a human life. No matter who that person was or what he or she believed.”  
  
“Yeah,” Ronan mumbled. “That’s – yeah.” Then he fell silent again, no sound but the crunching of his well-worn boots on the snow.  
  
Remus waited to see if further questions emerged, but for the moment Ronan’s curiosity seemed to be assuaged.  
  
Even with the undercurrent of tension simmering in the pack, the winter nights around the fire were cosy. The adults chatted together, though the younger ones often withdrew to the far side of the fire and kept their own company.  
  
And nearly every evening, Joy begged Anna, the Mother, to tell stories. But Anna tired early on these long, cold nights, so once Joy discovered that Remus could also be prevailed upon for storytelling, she would often crawl into his lap and badger him until he told her a tale.  
  
He was cautious, at first, unsure how well talk of wizarding culture would be received here. No Tales of Beedle the Bard would be welcome, surely, with their emphasis on wizarding magic. So Remus drew instead on anecdotes from his own travels abroad in younger years.  
  
One evening, though, he slipped up and mentioned Hogwarts.  
  
“Hogwarts? What’s that?” Joy’s curiosity was instantly aroused.  
  
Remus glanced across at Serena, sitting nearby, to gauge her reaction, and she gave him a small nod. All right, then. “It’s a school of magic,” he told Joy, who was nestled in his lap with her head on his shoulder. It was achingly sweet, her trusting weight against his chest.  
  
“Magic? Like the magic that Mother does around our camp, so humans won’t find us?”  
  
“Not exactly,” Remus said. “It’s a school for learning a different kind of magic. The kind that wizards do with wands.”  
  
Joy craned her neck around to look at him. Remus wondered if she’d ever seen wand magic performed. Surely in her younger childhood, before she was turned? But perhaps she didn’t remember.  
  
“Could I go there? To that school?”  
  
Remus glanced helplessly towards Serena, but this time she offered no assistance.  
  
“I suppose so,” he answered slowly. “The school is open to anyone with magical ability.”  
  
“Do I have magical abil – ability? How do I know?”  
  
“Have you ever made something happen, accidentally, just because of how you were feeling? Made things shrink, or grow, or fly through the air?”  
  
“When I was little, I could make my dollies talk to each other. That was when I was little, though, I don’t have dolls anymore,” she added in an explanatory tone, as though Remus might have failed to notice this.  
  
Remus glanced at Serena again, and caught a fleeting glimpse of some private pain on her face. So, for all Serena’s talk of the inferiority of life among wizards, she was also sorry for what Joy had lost. Remus hurriedly looked away.  
  
He was about to shift the conversation to a less fraught topic, when Joy asked, “Did you go to that school? To Hogwarts?”  
  
“Yes,” Remus said, because he couldn’t lie to this child. “I did.”  
  
Predictably, her eyes went wide. “Oh! Tell me about it! Tell me stories!” She settled more determinedly into his lap and fixed her great dark eyes on him.  
  
Remus could see there was no getting out of this now. He shifted Joy onto one knee, so they were both sitting comfortably. “Well, first of all, everyone who comes to the school gets Sorted into one of four houses,” he began. Despite himself, he was warming to this task, of sharing stories from the happiest days of his werewolf childhood with this particular werewolf child. “And I was very lucky, because in my house, I had three wonderful friends…”  
  
– – – – –  
  
Each morning all through that cold January, as Tonks hurriedly pulled on clothes in her draughty attic room, she told herself fiercely, _Today I will do one thing that makes a difference._ She hated feeling idle, feeling that the war was getting worse and she wasn’t doing anything to stop it. So she threw herself into her census list and her rounds of the village, her eyes always open for the slightest shreds of information.  
  
“You know, I thought I saw a window open at the Three Broomsticks, the day that poor girl from the school was cursed,” a plump-faced Hogsmeade matron mused, in one of the seemingly casual conversations Tonks was growing adept at guiding subtly towards the topics she most needed to hear about. The woman went on, “And that was even though it was October then, and such a chilly day. Might have been one of the windows in the toilets, it seems to me.”  
  
Tonks had lunch at the Three Broomsticks several days a week, keeping her eyes and ears open from over a sandwich or a slice of Rosmerta’s hearty cottage pie, as the village’s inhabitants came and went. So the next time she was at the pub, Tonks took the opportunity to ask Rosmerta if she’d noticed an open window that day.  
  
“An open window? In October?” Rosmerta frowned from behind the bar, her hands busy as always, pulling pints. “I couldn’t say for sure, but I doubt it, love. I’d have noticed something like that.”  
  
She looked more tired than usual, Tonks thought, but then, didn’t they all. The cold and the war and the endless grey winter were so wearying, no matter how Tonks tried to ignore everything else and focus only on her work. Rosmerta looked the way everyone in Hogsmeade seemed to feel these days, grey and worn.  
  
Hogwarts arranged a special one-off Floo connection to transport the students safely and speedily back to school at the end of their break, and Tonks was one of the Aurors who patrolled the grounds that day, as children Flooed in from all over the country.  
  
The very idea of Flooing to Hogwarts struck Tonks as all wrong. The ritual of boarding the train; of seeing your friends again after what felt like ages, not mere weeks; of winding your way north through changing scenery as your excitement grew, all of that was part of the magic of Hogwarts.  
  
Sometimes, it was the smallest of things that made Tonks long for this war to be over. She wanted back the days when kids could ride the Hogwarts Express without fear.  
  
That same evening, after all the students had arrived back safely, Tonks was off-duty and curled up in her attic room with a book when her Aurorlog blared out its alarm. The hand position said Savage, who was currently on duty, and the colour meant Dementors.  
  
Tonks leapt up and threw on her cloak, then Apparated to the edge of town in the direction the arrow on the Aurorlog’s metal rim was pointing. She found Savage and Dawlish there, casting their Patronus Charms at a swarm of Dementors that were gliding menacingly towards the town.  
  
Tonks took up position beside them and cast her own Patronus, which charged down the Dementors in its new form, shaggy and huge. Despite her complicated feelings about her new Patronus, Tonks had to admit she found its fierce, protective wolf shape a comfort.  
  
The nearest Dementors faltered as her Patronus charged, but there were more behind them. Now Proudfoot appeared, too, shouting as he cast his own Patronus. Between the four of them, all spell-casting with all their might, slowly they were able to drive the Dementors back beyond the next hill. Pushed that far from the village, the foully rattling creatures began to disperse with an air of defeat.  
  
Panting, Tonks wiped sweat from her forehead, when the last of the Dementors had finally gone.  
  
“Nice work,” Savage said, turning to the rest of them. “Good response time, too.”  
  
“How long do you suppose until they try again?” Tonks asked.  
  
Savage shrugged. “Couple of days, maybe? There are so many of them, now, and this is one of the biggest concentrations of human emotions in the area. The students arriving today probably drew them.”  
  
Tonks nodded. That was what she had figured, too, that fending off Dementors was going to become a routine part of her work here. But it didn’t mean she had to like it.  
  
She was doing her patrol rounds of the village a few days later, just turning a corner from the high street into a smaller lane, when a voice in her ear growled, “Look alive, lass! Where’s your vigilance?”  
  
It was only her years of hard-won training that kept Tonks from jumping into the air in surprise. But thanks to those years of training, instead of startling, she spun on her heel and directed her wand up and at her unseen assailant’s throat, all in one smooth motion.   
  
Even though she would recognise that particular voice anywhere.  
  
Mad-Eye Moody – because of course it was him, and only he could look so thoroughly unconcerned at having a wand pressed into the soft skin beneath his Adam’s apple – gave Tonks that familiar grimace that she knew counted, with him, as almost a hint of a smile. She knew he was more pleased with her than he would willingly let on.  
  
“That vigilant enough for you, Mad-Eye?” she asked, politely removing her wand from its position tight against his throat.  
  
Moody coughed experimentally, found everything in working order, and frowned at her. “Your wand-carrying position is lax,” he said, and Tonks grinned, because that meant he couldn’t find anything else to criticise about her form, technique or reaction time.  
  
“You come all the way up to Hogsmeade just to insult me?” Tonks asked, starting to walk again in the direction she’d been patrolling and trusting Moody to follow.  
  
He gave a noncommittal grunt, as he stumped along beside her. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t slipping up.”  
  
Tonks bit her lip against another smile. Coming from Moody, that was practically an expression of affection. He’d only been here grumping at her for half a minute, and already the grey Hogsmeade day seemed a little brighter.  
  
“You don’t get to Order meetings often these days, being stationed up here,” he went on, his magical and non-magical eyes both swivelling side to side as they walked, always scanning for danger. “Thought you could do with a little extra training.”  
  
It was true, her nearly round-the-clock responsibilities in Hogsmeade made it hard to slip away unnoticed for Order meetings. And as always, Dumbledore felt it was more important that Tonks maintain her good standing with the Auror Office. She missed the conviviality of the meetings, and a few of those duelling practice sessions Moody sometimes oversaw after the official end of a meeting wouldn’t go amiss either. Tonks missed that too, duelling for fun, but with professional-level focus. Fighting off Dementors did _not_ count in the same way.  
  
“So?” Moody demanded, and Tonks scanned back through his previous terse sentences, trying to figure out what question he thought he’d asked her and was waiting to hear answered.  
  
“Oh!” she realised. “You came up here to run training exercises?”  
  
Moody stumped his wooden leg a little harder against the ground with his next step, a bizarre form of conversational emphasis. “Good girl. I’ll find you after your patrol shift ends.”  
  
With that, he turned and clomped away, in the direction of the Hog’s Head Inn. Tonks grinned at his receding back. Good old Moody, needing to be surly and dramatic at all times. She’d missed the old codger, and it seemed he’d missed her too, if he was coming out of his way to visit her in Hogsmeade. Whatever excuses he might make about his visit being merely for training purposes.  
  
True to his word, Moody found Tonks when her shift ended for the day. He jerked his head at her, then took off walking towards the edge of town. “Thought we’d do better to find a field somewhere to practise in,” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t want to be scaring the locals.”  
  
They found an open meadow about ten minutes’ walk outside of town and squared off in duelling stance, wands held ready. Tonks felt excitement thrum through her veins. She loved a good duel, and few people she’d ever fought were as good and as fast and as fearsome as Mad-Eye Moody. When you started your career as an Auror by training under Moody for three years, when you finally got out on active duty and fought actual criminals it was like a stroll in the park.   
  
“Ready?” Moody growled. “Three, two, one –”  
  
Light blasted at Tonks from the end of Moody’s wand. She dodged the spell, her body moving on pure instinct, shouting “ _Impedimenta_!” at him as she went. Oh, it felt _good_ to move. It felt like waking up after months of staying still.   
  
Moody shifted into trying to Stun her, so Tonks did the same, and they spent an exhilarating several minutes ducking and dodging, trying to out- _Stupefy_ each other. Then Moody shifted tack again, into water spells, then again to sneaky physical jinxes like Jelly-Legs and Sponge-Knees.  
  
They duelled until the sun sank behind the hills and then for a while longer after that, until the dusk grew so deep that it was impossible to see their opponent’s movements. “Halt!” Moody yelled, from somewhere in the dark, and Tonks stowed her wand away in her robe, her breath heaving. She felt _alive_.  
  
Moody came up beside her, his gnarled face barely visible in the gloom.   
  
“Not bad,” he allowed. “You’re a little out of practice, but nothing regular training can’t fix. Same time next week?”  
  
“Mad-Eye –” Tonks started to protest, thinking of her thousand duties, her punishing work schedule for the Aurors, her own personal task of keeping track of anything that changed amongst the population of the village, not to mention her occasional check-ins up at the castle to keep in communication with Dumbledore. The only time Tonks could remember getting a full night’s sleep in months had been at Christmas, and even that had been marred by heart-pounding dreams of shouting and flashes of light in the Department of Mysteries.   
  
But then she stopped and took stock of how she felt right now, how her chest heaved and her legs ached and for once she didn’t feel that dreary, ever-present weight, like everything she did was pointless and she wasn’t even sure why she tried.  
  
So instead she said, “Yeah. Same time next week. But next time, Mad-Eye, watch out, because I’m going to be the one who creeps up from behind and startles _you_.”  
  
“Not likely,” Moody scoffed, but Tonks thought she saw a glimpse of that almost-smile as he Apparated away.  
  
– – – – –  
  
Sometimes in the pale afternoons, if Anna had enough energy, she would direct one of the others to lift little Joy up into the hammock with her, and she would teach the girl werewolf magic, the small but powerful incantations that werewolves used to protect their territory, to seek prey, to fend off predators. Joy picked up the spells quickly, displaying a clear aptitude for both magic and learning.  
  
“Don’t you ever consider sending her to school?” Remus asked Serena. The two of them were once again taking a turn guarding the Mother, which in this case simply meant sitting nearby and watching as the pack’s oldest member and youngest member wove spells together.  
  
“No,” Serena said, in a tone that discouraged further questioning.  
  
Remus had known that would be her answer, of course, yet he couldn’t quite let it go. “She has undeniable magical talent. It would be a pity not to let her train and develop her skills.”  
  
Serena turned to him, her elbows on her knees, her gaze fierce. “And where would that land her? One foot in a world that hates her, the other in a world where she’ll never quite belong, if she lives away from it for most of her growing up? No, thank you. You go on being in love with your precious wizarding world, but that’s not what I want for River.”  
  
“It’s not ‘my’ wizarding world, and I’m not in love with it,” Remus said quietly. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I’ve learned the value of the way you live here. This is your culture, and I would never tell you to send her away from it. But surely, someday, couldn’t there be a way for us to have both? Preserve werewolf traditions, but learn wand magic, too?”  
  
Serena just shook her head, not looking at Remus. Her gaze out over the moor was distant.  
  
_Just old enough to be really looking forward to my school letter_ , she had once said, in telling Remus her own story of how she’d been turned into a werewolf. She, too, had once dreamed of a different life, before it had been stolen away from her.  
  
“If you ever change your mind,” Remus said gently, “I know the headmaster and the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts. I could talk to them. It’s not as impossible as it sounds.”  
  
“Thanks for the sentiment,” Serena snorted, her voice wry.  
  
He let the matter drop for the time being.  
  
The January full moon came and went, and Remus woke the morning after with his throat hoarse and sore. (Had he been howling? Did everyone else know it but him?) Ashmita laughed when she heard how his voice came out in a croak, but Serena, in her quiet way, went and fetched Remus cold water from the nearest iced-in creek. It amazed him now to think how hostile she had been towards him in the beginning, and now it seemed almost as if they were – dare he think it? – friends.  
  
“Thank you, Serena,” he said, when she handed him the water in an old, chipped mug, one of the few castaway dishes in the camp. Then he corrected himself, “Trouble, I mean. I’m sorry. All these months, and I still can’t seem to get my head around werewolf names.”  
  
“That’s all right,” she said, as she squatted down next to him on the ground and watched him sip from the cup. “I think I sort of like it. No one’s called me that in decades.”  
  
Later that afternoon, Joy came and wriggled her way into Remus’ lap, digging her elbows into his knees and demanding stories. The day after a full moon was always a rest day for the pack, but for Joy, that simply meant more grown-ups around to entertain her.  
  
Remus shifted her onto his knee and brushed a stray slim plait out of her eyes.  
  
“Once upon a time, there was a young boy who was a wizard,” he began. Remus had all too soon run through all the fairy tales he knew, at least the ones he judged to be not too offensive to werewolf sensibilities, and begun to wonder what other stories he could tell Joy. Then, to his chagrin, he’d discovered that his own Hogwarts boyhood provided endless fodder for amusing anecdotes and tales of bold daring.  
  
“Was his name James?” Joy demanded with a child’s sage assurance that she knew all. Remus wasn’t sure what it said about him that, even when it was his own childhood he was narrating, James and Sirius generally managed to take the leading roles.  
  
“Why, yes, how did you know?” he agreed, smiling down into Joy’s eager face.  
  
“And did he have a best friend named Sirius?” she demanded.  
  
“You’re a very good guesser.”  
  
“Did they play lots of pranks and get in trouble at school?”  
  
With an internal sigh, hoping he wasn’t hopelessly corrupting this child, Remus said, “Yes, they did. But they also had lots of adventures, and did daring deeds, and were very clever at magic. And on this particular spring morning when our story takes place, James and Sirius were meant to be doing an assignment for their Potions class.”  
  
“Potions class?” Joy contorted her face into the quizzical expression that meant he’d used a term she didn’t know and he was now expected to explain himself.  
  
“The study of how to make magical drinks and special mixtures that have different powers,” Remus told her. “There are potions that can make you look like a different person, or make someone laugh, or make you breathe fire for a day.”  
  
“Fun!” Joy declared, wriggling with excitement at the idea. Remus glanced over at Serena, wondering if he was treading too far into the territory of the human magic Serena didn’t want her daughter learning, but Serena, sitting nearby with her back resting against a log, was simply watching the two of them with a faint smile.  
  
“Anyway,” Remus hurried on, “James and Sirius and two other friends were meant to be doing their Potions homework. But it was a beautiful day, and James said he wanted to go outside, and Sirius said he wanted to go outside, too. So they talked their friend Remus into doing the assignment for the whole group.”  
  
“Remus as in you-Remus?” Somehow Joy had picked up that this was also his name, although the pack only ever called him as Quiet.  
  
“Yes, Remus as in me-Remus. But this was a long-time-ago-Remus. And that Remus didn’t think he was any good at Potions. It always took him twice as long in class to do the assignments that James and Sirius completed without even trying. And Remus’ potions never came out quite the right colour; sometimes they were cobalt blue when they were meant to be royal blue. Sometimes they were lime green when they were supposed to be chartreuse.”  
  
“What’s chartreuse?”  
  
Remus tried to think of anything Joy might have seen in her life on the moor that matched that colour and came up blank. “It’s a very bright green-y yellow,” he said, wishing he could do better for her. If only they had books here! If only he could use his wand to draw images in the air, and demonstrate concepts for her that way.  
  
Joy nodded, accepting this explanation as adequate.  
  
“So on this particular day, Remus’ friends left him to mix a Drowsiness Draught by himself.”  
  
“A what?”  
  
“A drink that makes a person feel sleepy. It’s not a very difficult potion, just five ingredients and a lot of stirring after they’re put together, but Remus was used to working in class with a partner to help him, not having to do it alone. So he got his five ingredients all laid out and ready, and chopped everything up just the way the book said to do. Then it was time to mix the ingredients together in his cauldron. And what do you think happened?”  
  
“It was the _best_ potion ever!” Joy cheered.  
  
Remus laughed. “What makes you say that?”  
  
She wrinkled her nose. “Because it’s a _story_. Stories always have a happy ending.”  
  
Remus blinked. However untrue that statement often proved in real life, he was glad Joy still believed it when it came to stories. Even despite the tragedy that had marred her young life, she was still very much a child, innocent and curious and brimming over with joy.   
  
“Well,” he said, pulling himself together. “You’re _almost_ right. It wasn’t the very best potion in the class – another boy from a different house brewed the best potion, as he almost always did – but it was a very good potion. It was just the right shade of pinkish purple, and it made James and Sirius fall straight asleep when Remus tried it out on them at dinner that evening, by slipping a few drops of the potion into their pumpkin juice.”  
  
Joy burst out in delighted laughter. “You tricked them! You tricked them and made them drink the potion?”  
  
Ruefully, Remus said, “Yes, I did. Which wasn’t very nice, I admit, but I’ll have you know that Remus researched the counter-charm for the Drowsiness Draught ahead of time, and woke them up again right away.” And then they’d all spent the next week or so gleefully taking turns tricking each other into eating foods laced with Drowsiness Draught, but perhaps he didn’t need to give Joy _quite_ that much information about his irresponsible youth.  
  
Joy gave a decisive nod. “It’s only fair, because they made you do their work. Everybody’s supposed to do as much work as they can, not make somebody else do it. Right?”  
  
Remus smiled to think how thoroughly she’d absorbed the werewolves’ share-and-share-alike ethos. “Yes, that’s right,” he said. “Everybody works if they can, and everybody helps one another.”  
  
He glanced towards Serena again, and was surprised to find her still watching him. She looked at him like this, sometimes, when he was telling stories to Joy, in a very particular way that Remus saw and tried not to see. It was a _considering_ look. Considering him as a man, as a werewolf, as a surrogate parent figure for a now fatherless child. Considering him, perhaps, as a potential mate.  
  
Remus quickly looked away.  
  
The most uncomfortable thing about Serena’s consideration was how much sense it made, from a purely logical point of view. Forming a relationship with another werewolf was the only rational way for Remus to have a partner without fearing constantly for that person’s safety. And loving someone else’s child was the only way he could be a parent, because he did not dare to become a father himself and risk passing on his condition.  
  
And life here among the werewolves, for all its physical discomforts, was in other ways so simple. There was no struggle against prejudice here, just the day-to-day business of feeding themselves and looking out for one another. In Serena’s eyes sometimes, Remus thought he saw the promise of a life like that. He could, if he chose, stay here and be someone’s mate, be a full member of the pack.  
  
But he knew he could never accept that offer. It would be unfair to Serena, when his heart was with someone else.  
  
“ _Quiet_ ,” Joy repeated. Remus realised she’d said his name once already.  
  
“Yes, River?”  
  
“Tell another story!”  
  
Remus smiled and acquiesced.  
  
– – – – –  
  
Tonks was leaving after one of her occasional check-in meetings with Dumbledore one evening when she spotted coming towards her down the school corridor two girls she recognised very well, along with one she didn’t.  
  
“Tonks!” Ginny cried, and even despite her weariness after a long work day, Tonks found herself smiling. It never failed to touch her how the kids of the Order seemed to look on her as their cool big sister among all the adults, and Ginny especially never seemed to be able to greet Tonks with less than a shriek of delight.  
  
“Hi, Tonks,” Hermione said, less loudly but no less warmly, once they’d all reached each other in the middle of the corridor. Dusk had fallen while Tonks was in Dumbledore’s office and now the wall sconces all along the corridor were lit.  
  
Ginny and Hermione each carried a school bag bulging with books, although the friend who walked beside them was empty-handed. This third girl had blonde hair and big grey eyes, and was regarding Tonks with a kind of dreamy curiosity.  
  
“Wotcher, kids,” Tonks said. “Where are you off to?”  
  
“Library,” Ginny said, with an expressive frown. “I’m sitting my O.W.L.s this year, and Hermione seems to think I should start revising now, even though they’re still half a year away.”  
  
“It’s never too soon to start preparing –” Hermione protested, then broke off when she realised Ginny was deliberately winding her up.  
  
Hermione made a face at Ginny, and Ginny returned it in kind. Tonks, who was used to seeing Hermione always cast in the role of the Very Earnest One in her friendship with Harry and Ron, was glad to see she also had friends she could be a bit silly with.  
  
“Tonks,” Ginny said, when she’d finished rolling her eyes at Hermione, and had turned towards the blonde girl on her other side, “this is our friend Luna. She’s in my year, in Ravenclaw. She was with us at the Ministry that night,” she added, then looked stricken, like she hadn’t meant to recall any of their minds to memories of that terrible night.  
  
“Wotcher, Luna, I’m Tonks,” Tonks said firmly, wanting to show Ginny that it was okay.  
  
“I know.” The blonde girl nodded thoughtfully. “You duelled Bellatrix Lestrange in the Death Chamber.”  
  
“Yes,” Tonks said, disconcerted.  
  
Luna continued to gaze at her with those soulful eyes. “And then Bellatrix Lestrange killed your cousin Sirius. You must miss him a lot.”  
  
Hermione coughed, awkward and embarrassed. Ginny’s cheeks went pink as she tried to look like the conversation hadn’t just taken a highly unusual turn.  
  
“Er,” Ginny said. “Maybe we should…go?” She glanced at Hermione.  
  
“Yes!” Hermione said. “We really should hurry to the library, because, you know –” She didn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence, since a library wasn’t usually a place to which one needed to hurry.  
  
But Tonks said, “Yes, Luna, that’s true. I miss Sirius all the time. He was one of my best friends.”  
  
Luna nodded, brushing a stray wisp of hair back from her face. “I thought so. I miss my mum, too, but she died a long time ago, so it’s not as easy for people to see anymore that I’m sad about it.”  
  
Ginny was going increasingly pink and Hermione’s eyes had widened in alarm. Hermione glanced sideways at Luna, clearly wondering what she might say next.  
  
Tonks, though, felt a strange lifting in her chest. She didn’t know when she’d last got to talk about Sirius, properly talk about him and not just dance around it.  
  
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I miss him. And I’m sorry about your mum. I’m sure you’ve never stopped missing her, no matter how long ago it was.”  
  
Luna nodded soberly. “That’s true,” she said. “But there are also lots of things that make me happy, now. So I think you’ll probably find some of them, too.”  
  
Tonks blinked at her in surprise. “Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate that, actually.”  
  
Several quiet seconds passed.  
  
“We probably should get on to the library,” Hermione said, her voice hushed now. “I promised Ginny I’d help her revise before she has to go to Quidditch practice.”  
  
Ginny nodded, similarly subdued by the turn their conversation had taken. “But I’m glad we saw you, Tonks.” She turned to Luna. “Luna? Are you coming to the library?”  
  
Luna tilted her head and considered. “No, thank you, I think I’ll walk downstairs with Tonks instead. I’ve already done all the revising I’ll be able to do until I get rid of this Wrackspurt.”  
  
Tonks raised an eyebrow, but Ginny just smiled. Tonks could see that it was a fond-of-Luna smile, not a mocking one. Hermione bit her lip and seemed to wrestle with herself, but managed to hold back whatever it was she had wanted to say on the subject of Wrackspurts.  
  
“Right,” Hermione said instead. “Well. We’ll see you later, Luna, all right?”  
  
Luna nodded dreamily, like she’d already said goodbye to Hermione in her head, and thus had forgotten there was any need to speak the words aloud as well.  
  
Ginny gave Tonks a grin and said, “See you, Tonks.”  
  
“Take care, you two,” Tonks said.  
  
Then Ginny and Hermione continued past her on their way to the library, while Luna turned and drifted along next to Tonks, like a pleasant but absent-minded shadow.  
  
They were in the entrance hallway, approaching the school’s great front doors, before Luna spoke again.  
  
“Have you ever seen a Thestral?” she asked, in her dreamy voice.  
  
“No, I can’t see them, because –”  
  
Tonks stopped short.  
  
Oh.  
  
As a Hogwarts student, she’d been quite fascinated by the fact that a Thestral herd lived right there in the woods by the castle. Like everyone, she’d ridden in the Thestral-drawn coaches at the start and end of each school year, but she’d never seen the creatures themselves, because you had to have witnessed death to see Thestrals, and Tonks had never seen someone die. Now, though…  
  
“I guess I could see them, now,” Tonks said softly.  
  
It was painful to say it. All those petulant teenaged thoughts she’d had about how _annoying_ it was that Thestrals didn’t become visible to anyone unless they’d seen death, how much she wanted to see one and it wasn’t _fair_ … This was not at all how she would have chosen to solve that problem.  
  
Luna nodded, not seeming at all perturbed that Tonks had come to a standstill in the middle of the entranceway. It must be nearly dinnertime, because gaggles of students were streaming past them, chatting and laughing as they entered the Great Hall.  
  
Tonks hadn’t seen Sirius die, of course. She’d been knocked unconscious before he was killed. But she’d been there in the Death Chamber when it happened, and she’d heard about it in vivid, horrible detail afterward, and all the literature said that the crucial point, when it came to Thestrals, was how deeply you’d internalised the death, not how much of it you’d physically seen.  
  
Tonks laughed shortly, not feeling very mirthful. “When I was a student here, I got a little obsessed with trying to find the Thestrals in the Forbidden Forest, even though I couldn’t even see them to know what I was looking for. I guess now I’d be able to go looking for them with no trouble at all.”  
  
“I can take you to see them, if you’d like,” Luna said, her voice as gently impassive as ever.  
  
Tonks turned and stared at her. “What, really?”  
  
“I visit them sometimes. They know me, because I often bring them food, but I imagine they’ll come and greet us even if I don’t have anything to give them this time. We’re friends, I think.”  
  
Tonks was rapidly reassessing her impression of the mild-mannered girl beside her. Luna went wandering off into the Forbidden Forest, alone? Regularly?  
  
“Would you like to see them?” Luna asked.  
  
“What – right now?” Tonks fumbled. As intriguing as the offer sounded, luring students into the woods after dark was decidedly _not_ meant to be a part of her duties, as an Auror stationed here to protect the school.  
  
In answer, Luna drifted the last few steps across the entranceway and pushed open one of the great oak doors. A few soft flakes of snow whirled inside, and Luna stood framed in the doorway looking out at the evening dark.  
  
“I was going to visit the Thestrals this evening anyway,” she called over her shoulder. “So you needn’t worry you would be the reason I’m doing something out of bounds. And don’t worry about Nargles. I know which trees they nest in, so we can avoid them.”  
  
Tonks laughed at the unexpectedness of that last statement, and even as she did so, she knew she’d made her decision already.  
  
“All right,” she said, crossing to join Luna in the doorway. “I’ll go with you, and I’ll try to put my annoyingly grown-up responsible instincts aside for a bit. But if we see _anything_ other than Thestrals out there, I want you to run back to the castle, no questions asked, okay?”  
  
Luna turned and regarded Tonks with her head slightly tilted. Tonks wondered what she was thinking.  
  
“All right,” Luna said vaguely. “I don’t mind promising if it will make you feel better.” She stepped lightly away and down the flagstone steps. Tonks let the door swing closed behind them, and followed.  
  
“Won’t you be cold?” she asked, as they crossed the lawn. Luna was wearing her school robes and had a sort of downy shawl cast about her shoulders, but she wasn’t wearing anything approaching a winter cloak.  
  
“Oh…perhaps a bit,” Luna said musingly. “But it is winter, isn’t it?”  
  
Tonks had sneaked into the Forbidden Forest so many times in her Hogwarts years, both with and without various combinations of her friends, that even now she had to remind herself it was, in fact, forbidden to students. She probably ought to feel more dismayed at herself for accompanying a student there, now that she was an ostensible adult. But Luna seemed so eminently capable of looking after herself.  
  
As if reading her thoughts, Luna said in her gentle voice, “We won’t go far into the Forest. They’ll come to meet us at the edge.”  
  
The dark woods seemed to rise up at them out of the dusk, and suddenly Tonks and Luna were standing in front of the first of the trees. Tonks breathed in deeply. The Forbidden Forest smelled like nowhere else she knew, earthy and deep and a little mysterious, in a way Tonks had never been able to quantify. It also smelled wonderfully familiar, like a kind of coming home.  
  
“There,” said Luna softly, and Tonks looked up.  
  
Coming towards them, stalking delicately through the deep gloom between the greyish outlines of tree trunks, was an otherworldly creature, strange even by the standards of all the magical beasts Tonks had seen and known.  
  
The creature was darker even than the woods around it, its body leathery and sleek and skeleton-thin. Its papery wings, held away from its flanks and half unfurled, were enormous, like the wings of a bat built on a monstrous scale. Its wide, white eyes formed the only bright spots in the woods, luminous in the dark. It was grotesque and strange and somehow very beautiful.  
  
“ _Oh_ ,” Tonks breathed.  
  
It was true, what she’d told Luna – she’d always wanted to find a Thestral, back in her schooldays, even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to see it. She’d found Thestrals deeply mysterious, and to school-age Tonks anything that was mysterious was also fascinating, a puzzle she wanted to take apart until she understood exactly how it worked.  
  
More than once, she’d cajoled the Hogwarts elves into giving her kitchen scraps, the bloodier the better, and she’d read up on how to summon a Thestral, and she’d sneaked into the Forest to try her luck. She’d never succeeded in finding one, of course. But the pursuit itself had been joyful.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” Tonks whispered.  
  
Beside her, Luna murmured, “Hold out your hand.”  
  
Wordlessly, Tonks did as she was told. The Thestral pranced forward, until it stood directly in front of them, then it bent its head to meet Tonks’ hand. Cool, leathery lips danced across her outstretched fingers, but the breath that gusted over her palm was surprisingly hot.  
  
“Hello, friend,” Luna said to the animal in front of them. She, too, extended her hand, and the Thestral’s wide, expressive nostrils flared to take in its scent. Then it let out a small but pleased-sounding _whuff_ of air.  
  
Luna stroked one finger along the top of the Thestral’s nose ridge, then lowered her hand to her side.  
  
“Stroke her nose,” Luna said to Tonks. “She likes that.”  
  
Moving slowly, so as not to startle the animal, Tonks circled her palm from below its muzzle to above. Then she ran a finger, very lightly, along that long nose.  
  
The Thestral gave a ghostly version of a horse’s whinny, and tossed its head.  
  
Tonks stilled her hand completely. “Was that a good noise or a bad one?” she asked Luna quietly.  
  
“Good, I think,” Luna replied, just as softly. “Wait and see if she butts her head against you or if she pulls away.”  
  
For several breathless moments, Tonks waited. Then the Thestral dipped her head and pressed her cool, leathery muzzle into Tonks’ fingers.  
  
Tonks laughed softly in surprise, and Luna turned and smiled at her, a smile that was full of air and sunshine even in those dark woods. “Aren’t they nice? Look, here comes another.”  
  
More Thestrals were stepping out of the shadows, with that strange, prancing walk they had. More and more eerie, white-eyed faces appeared out of the dark, until there were eight or nine of them in a semi-circle around Tonks and Luna, nudging their muzzles against their hands and into Luna’s long hair, breathing with whispery, whistling noises that seemed loud in the quiet amidst the trees.  
  
“They’re lovely, Luna,” Tonks said. Then, “Thank you.”  
  
Tonks felt her eyes prick with tears, for no good reason she could name. She was thinking about Sirius, she supposed. And about how beautiful things and ugly things got so mixed up together that sometimes you couldn’t tell anymore what was what. She was thinking about her schooldays, her naïve wish to find a Thestral in the Forest, and how little she had understood, then, about what that really meant.  
  
And she was thinking, too, that too many kids of Harry’s generation – of Luna’s generation – had never had the luxury of not understanding.  
  
Stroking gentle fingers down the noses of two Thestrals at once, Luna said conversationally, “Yes, I often find I feel quite sad, when I visit the Thestrals. But they make me happy, too. Do you feel like that? Happy and sad at once?”  
  
Tonks nodded, though she didn’t know if Luna could really see her in the near-dark there at the edge of the Forest. Yes, she felt happy and sad; she felt alone even as she was surrounded by these monstrous, gentle creatures. She felt protective towards this odd young woman beside her, and at the same time she felt awed by Luna’s self-possession.  
  
She felt an almost overwhelming sadness, as she stroked the nose of the Thestral closest to her and let it nibble curiously on her fingers. But after so long of feeling frustrated and nearly numb, feeling even a painful emotion this deeply was, in some strange way, a relief.  
  
– – – – –  
  
Remus continued to dodge Serena’s eyes when she turned that thoughtful gaze on him, as the days passed and the seasons carried them slowly past the darkest hours of winter, to Imbolc.  
  
This was a seasonal festival, akin to Samhain or Beltane, marking the midpoint between the winter solstice and spring equinox. A celebration of the tentative beginnings of spring, although snow still lay heavy on the moor.  
  
The pack’s celebration was tense and quiet, a small gathering around a hearth-like fireplace they had built for the occasion inside the lean-to. Brighid, the Alpha’s mate, had tended the fire carefully all day. Now, the pack gathered around and passed from hand to hand a jug of sweet, fresh milk – whether bartered or stolen Remus didn’t know, but he knew better than to ask – and lit long, tapered candles Anna had stored safely away until this day, symbols of the returning sun and its warmth. Fire and fertility, hearth and home, these were the touchstones of Imbolc.  
  
Often, multiple werewolf packs gathered together for this and other seasonal festivals, taking these sacred days as an opportunity to meet, celebrate and share news. This year, the pack celebrated alone. Remus remembered words Narun had uttered, months ago now: _Alpha hasn’t let us go to any of the big gatherings in ages. Doesn’t want us getting ideas, you know?_  
  
The last time the Alpha had taken members of his pack to a large gathering had been at Imbolc the year before, and now here it was already Imbolc again. The pack had kept themselves apart from the wider werewolf community all this time. It was unusual for a pack to stay so isolated, and Remus knew it served as another sign that the dire political climate had grown inescapable even for a peaceable group of werewolves who wanted nothing to do with Voldemort’s war.  
  
Now, sitting quietly around their own fire, the silence felt morose. Narun and the other young ones were surely remembering the days when they had travelled freely to meet other packs and other young folks. Remus could see them casting guardedly discontented looks at the Alpha when they thought no one was looking.  
  
Gazing into the fire, his shoulders taut with sympathetic pain at the tension around him, Remus, too, was remembering the year before, though for different reasons.  
  
It had been the one time he’d got himself in too deep, in all his months of reconnaissance for Dumbledore. There had been a large gathering of packs in France, in the days around the full moon nearest Imbolc. Greyback had been there, with his big talk about everything Voldemort claimed to offer werewolves: prey and status and violent dominion over Muggles. The atmosphere at the gathering had grown ugly and a small group had attacked Remus, sensing that he was not like them, that he was an outsider who did not belong, a spy.  
  
He’d managed to get away and made it onto a train back to England, ribs creaking and head pounding. Arriving in London, barely keeping himself upright, Remus had tried to fix his mind on the idea of _home_ as he Apparated unsteadily away from St Pancras Station, and had somehow ended up at the door of Tonks’ flat, instead of Grimmauld Place as he’d intended.  
  
Tonks had patched him up, competent and exasperated and concerned, then let him sleep off the worst of his injuries in her bed while she was at work. That had perhaps been the moment most of all, out of so many moments, when the tentative thing between the two of them had begun to be something definite and real.  
  
But those memories belonged to the past. They’d been a stolen glimpse into the kind of life other people got to lead, and even those few months were more than Remus should have allowed himself to have.  
  
If he’d been stronger and stayed away from the start, perhaps Tonks wouldn’t now look as blanched and miserable as she had done when he’d encountered her outside the Hogwarts gates. Remus would give anything if only he could undo the pain he’d caused.  
  
“Quiet. Quiet!” Serena’s voice startled Remus out his reverie. She’d been trying to pass him the jug of milk as it made its way around the circle again.  
  
“Sorry,” Remus said, accepting the jug from her hand and taking a swallow before passing it to Ronan on his other side. Ronan seemed distant from the other young ones these days, torn between his desire to belong with his peers and uncertainty whether he wanted to align himself with their increasingly radical opinions.  
  
Eirwen, too, had retreated back into herself. It was painfully evident how badly she, too, wanted to belong with the others; but she had come here from Greyback’s pack and was clearly determined never to return to anything like it.  
  
But the other three, Adair and Tamara and Narun… Remus’ skin prickled as he looked at them now, sitting together at the edge of the pack, their simmering discontent palpable. United in their shared, if covert, disdain for their elders, the connection between the three of them was electric and intense. Sometimes, Remus felt sure he saw signs of a growing romance between Tamara and Adair. Other times, he was equally certain it was Narun and Adair who were captivated by one another. Or perhaps it was all three.  
  
Whatever its precise nature, the growing bond among the three of them had only heightened their distance from the rest of the pack. So far, the Alpha had tolerated their increasing apartness, but Remus knew this state of affairs couldn’t last.  
  
– – – – –  
  
At Scrivenshaft’s, the young shop assistant lit up when Tonks next came by on her rounds. She remembered Ariadne’s words (“He _likes_ you!”) and his shy smile across the pub on New Year’s Eve. Then she wondered if she was currently making that face Ariadne insisted she made whenever “a guy fancies you but you don’t fancy him.”  
  
Trying to resolve her face into something that was professional and polite, but not _that_ expression, Tonks crossed the shop to the assistant, who’d glanced up from where he was arranging sheaves of parchment on a low shelf.  
  
This was Tonks’ work, talking to people in the village, and she wasn’t going to shirk it just because someone had smiled at her.  
  
“Good morning,” she said. That was suitably professional and polite, right?  
  
“Morning!” the young man said. He slid the rest of the parchment onto the shelf and stood up, dusting off his hands against his robes. “I’m Andy, by the way. I’ve seen you around a bunch, but I guess I’ve never introduced myself.”  
  
“I’m Tonks,” said Tonks. “I mean, my name’s Nymphadora Tonks, but I go by just Tonks.”  
  
“Nice to officially meet you, Tonks,” Andy said, beaming. Tonks gave him a perfunctory smile and hastily turned the conversation to business, asking whether the shop had made good sales at Christmas and what items had been the big sellers.  
  
She left the shop a few minutes later feeling unsettled. Despite her best efforts, the conversation had felt flirtatious. There was nothing actually wrong with flirting with someone new, of course – Remus had made quite clear where he stood – but it left her feeling off-balance and strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, once again Imbolc is a real Celtic Pagan holiday, one of the eight seasonal festivals throughout the year.
> 
> It always amuses me when I unintentionally develop an ongoing bit of headcanon backstory... The "young Tonks wants to find a Thestral" theme has made previous appearances in "[Waiting for the Snow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5860888)" (a fluffy future Teddy-centric fic) and in "[Unexpected](http://archiveofourown.org/works/627829)" (my perhaps-not-quite-canonical look at Tonks and Charlie Weasley's friendship).
> 
> Also, since Moody got his cameo in this chapter, this seems like an apt time to mention that I recently wrote a very short one-shot from his perspective! It's called "[Relentless Sunshine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4638936)" and it also features Lily Potter and the young folks of the first-war Order.
> 
> Here again for reference is the werewolf pack:
> 
> the Alpha, a male in his 40s, the pack’s leader  
> Anna, or the Mother, the oldest pack member, symbolic mother of all  
> Brighid, or Fire, the Alpha’s mate, roughly his age  
> Serena, or Trouble, roughly Remus’ age  
> Jack, or Thunderstorm, a little younger than the Alpha, Ashmita’s mate  
> Ashmita, or Rock Crag, Jack’s mate  
> Ronan, or Hardwood, young adult member of the pack, perhaps 20  
> Narun, or Rapids, roughly the same age  
> Adair, or Jump, roughly the same age  
> Tamara, or Blackthorn, roughly the same age  
> Eirwen, or Slither, a young teenager, 13 or 14  
> Joy, or River Run, the pack’s youngest member, 6 or 7


	15. Alone Apart

   
   
_We're sailing, we're sailing every night_  
_We're drifting, we're drifting alone apart_  
   
_–The Swell Season, Alone Apart_

 

“Why not, though?” Ariadne asked.  
   
They were squeezed in together at a tiny table at the back of the Three Broomsticks, and at Ariadne’s prodding Tonks had confessed about how Andy, the shop assistant from Scrivenshaft’s, kept eagerly striking up conversations with her whenever they crossed paths. In fact, she was pretty sure he’d been trying to ask her out for a drink the last time they’d met, though she’d managed to divert the conversation before he’d quite got to the chance.  
   
“Why not what?” Tonks asked, fiddling with her glass, though she knew what Ariadne was going with this. It was evening and the pub was abuzz with the usual chatter, and Tonks was trying – unsuccessfully – to let the hubbub distract her from the conversation she was currently having.  
   
“Why not go out for a drink with him?” Ariadne persisted. “I _know_ I know I know, you’re not over Remus, and I’m not saying you should be. But you don’t have to be one hundred per cent over someone in order to go out for a drink with somebody else. Even if it’s just to remind yourself that there _are_ other guys out there, you know?”  
   
That was the problem, wasn’t it? Despite everything, Tonks didn’t want to be “over” Remus. Despite how acrimoniously they’d parted, despite how firmly Remus had declared himself done with her, what had existed between the two of them didn’t feel like a thing that was over. Tonks felt as closely bound to Remus as ever, no matter that he was in some unknown location on a moor somewhere, and the only time they’d talked to each other in months had been that brief, tense encounter outside the gates of Hogwarts shortly after Christmas.  
   
Lately Tonks couldn’t help asking herself in frustration, was she completely stupid? She’d never thought of herself as the kind of woman who would hang around helplessly waiting for a man. Surely she should have moved past the heartbreak of Remus by now. Surely she shouldn’t still be nursing this secret hope that they might still be able to find their way back to each other.  
   
Ariadne scrutinised Tonks over the rim of her glass. “Is he nice?” she asked, jolting Tonks out of her ruminations.  
   
“What, Andy? Yeah, I guess,” Tonks admitted.  
   
“Is he cute?”  
   
“Er, I suppose so. In a kind of normal, cheerful, young bloke way.”  
   
Ariadne snorted. “Oh, no, _normal_ , that’s a strike against him. Merlin forbid our Tonks ever meet a nice, normal bloke.”  
   
Tonks rolled her eyes. “ _Fine_. Yes, okay, I will have one drink with him, if that’s what it takes to make you believe I can be normal. But who knows, he probably won’t even ask me again.”  
   
But he did ask again.  
   
Which was how, one evening in late January, Tonks found herself walking up Hogsmeade’s high street in the biting cold, making her way to the Three Broomsticks to meet nice, normal Andy for a nice, normal drink.  
   
Despite the purported normalcy of all this, it felt strange and unreal to Tonks.  
   
The front door gusted shut behind her, and Tonks saw Andy already seated at one of the booths along the side wall of the pub. He grinned and waved, and stood up when she reached him.  
   
“Tonks, hi!” he said.  
   
“Hi,” she said, sliding into the seat opposite him and wondering what on Earth to talk to him about. All her usual conversational gambits seemed to have failed her.  
   
Andy slid back into his seat, too, and fiddled with a beer coaster on the table between them. It was one of the magical ones Rosmerta used, that slid around the surface of the table of their own volition, absorbing any small spills.  
   
“So…” Andy said, smiling and charmingly nervous. “D’you like Quidditch? What team do you support?”  
   
Tonks breathed out. Okay, she could work with this.  
   
They talked about Quidditch for a while, then discussed Hogsmeade and bookshops and books and that great common ground of British wizards, Hogwarts. Tonks learned that Andy had been three years behind her at Hogwarts and a Ravenclaw, which explained why she hadn’t recognised him when she first saw him around the village. They traded school memories of outlandish Zonko’s jokes and exacting professors and chilling dares in the Forbidden Forest. Andy was kind and good company and he made her laugh, which Tonks had to admit was a welcome change from so much of the rest of her life these days.  
   
He was also, Tonks was uncomfortably aware, the absolute anti-Remus. He was cheerful, uncomplicated and terribly young. Someone Ariadne would place firmly in the “nice and normal” category. Tonks liked him well enough, but she couldn’t imagine him holding her interest in a long-term way, and she wasn’t sure what that said about her.  
   
Maybe she could learn her way into feeling more than polite amicability towards him? It took time to really get to know someone, after all. She ought to try.  
   
So at the end of the evening, as they lingered over the dregs of their glasses of ale, Tonks heard herself say, “Want to come over for another drink at my place?”  
   
Across the table, Andy’s eyes widened. Tonks wondered if she should regret the invitation, but mostly she just felt numb.  
   
_Remind yourself that there are other guys out there_ , Ariadne had said. So, okay, she was doing that.  
   
_I made a mistake. I’m sorry for it,_ Remus had said, sounding so bleak, that last horrible time they’d talked in the summer, before he left for the werewolf pack. And it wasn’t the break-up that he’d meant – the “mistake” had been getting involved with her in the first place.  
   
Tonks wasn’t stupid. She knew she deserved more than being with someone who saw her as a mistake.  
   
If only it were as easy as a flick of a wand or a blink of an eye, to change herself from caring too much about someone who didn’t seem to be able to return the feeling in the way she needed, and then decide instead to like this perfectly nice bloke in front of her.  
   
They walked side by side in jittery silence through the dark, cold streets of Hogsmeade. It was not so very late, despite the night that came early this time of year. Warm light still spilled from some of the shop windows and turned the cobblestones a diffuse, shimmering golden hue. At night, the streets of Hogsmeade didn’t look as dour and afraid as they did during the daytime. If Tonks squinted and let her eyes blur out the boarded-up shop fronts that dotted the street like rotten teeth, this could almost be the familiar old Hogsmeade of her school days.  
   
Tonks let them both in the door of her flat, waved a hand vaguely and told Andy to leave his cloak anywhere. She never had got around to putting in hooks or a cloak rack or anything like that – for herself, Tonks tended to simply throw her clothing over whatever item of furniture was nearest. Remus had always smiled in amusement at the places her cloak and shoes managed to end up, and damn it, now she was thinking of Remus again.  
   
She probably shouldn’t be thinking of Remus at this particular moment.  
   
From under a pile of discarded T-shirts, Tonks unearthed her tiny portable wizarding wireless and gave it a tap with her wand. The Weird Sisters, good, that would do.  
   
Glad to have an excuse to keep moving, Tonks squeezed into the little kitchen nook and grabbed a couple of beers from the cold cupboard, glad that she’d managed to keep the kitchen stocked for once. This whole thing would be even more awkward if she didn’t have drinks on hand to fulfil the pretence of the visit.  
   
She returned to Andy, who was hovering nervously by the door, and handed him one of the two bottles.  
   
“Cheers,” he said, and tapped his drink against hers. Tonks nodded.  
   
He took a sip. She took a sip. They were still standing a couple feet apart.  
   
“So, have a seat, if you want,” Tonks said, and led him towards the tiny, lurid green loveseat that served as her flat’s sofa.  
   
The loveseat was small enough that it would have been a bit of a squeeze in any case, but Andy sat down right next to her, so close that their legs were lightly touching. Tonks tried to feel excited about that, tried to feel _anything_ about it. There was a very nice bloke on her sofa, who liked books _and_ Quidditch, and had nice eyes and a friendly laugh, and who was not currently trying to get himself killed by feral werewolves or cold or starvation, shouldn’t that be enough? What was wrong with her, that she couldn’t think her way into making this be enough?  
   
Andy put a tentative hand on her knee, so Tonks set her drink down on the floor and leaned over and kissed him, because surely she should want this.  
   
He responded eagerly, leaning in too and threading a hand into Tonks’ hair, shifting so their bodies were more or less aligned despite the odd angle at which they sat scrunched in against each other on the loveseat. Andy’s lips were warm, and Tonks could feel him smiling even as he kissed her, like he just couldn’t contain his enthusiasm. And Tonks, feeling like the worst person imaginable, kissed him back and tried to feel…anything.  
   
It wasn’t that it was unpleasant. It was nice that there was someone here in her flat after so many months alone, and it was nice to be around someone who liked her well enough to want her company. It should have been very pleasant to sit there on the loveseat of her cosy little flat and kiss Andy, but instead it felt all wrong. Tonks felt like she was watching herself from somewhere far away, having to remind herself at every moment how to move and breathe and smile.  
   
She couldn’t do it. It was too weird, to be kissing someone and feeling nothing. And it wasn’t fair to the person she was kissing, either.  
   
Tonks pulled back and rested a gentle but discouraging hand on Andy’s shoulder. His eyes, sweetly closed, flashed open in confusion.  
   
 “I’m sorry,” she said, already feeling awful about what she had to say next.  
   
Andy’s eyes widened in alarm and he dropped his hands from her shoulder and from her hair. “I’m sorry,” he echoed, stumbling over his words. “Did I – I mean, I didn’t mean –”  
   
“No,” Tonks rushed to assure him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. That was nice. I just – it’s not – I guess –” She took a fortifying breath, because what a stupidly unkind thing this was to say to someone, five seconds after you’d been kissing them. “I guess I’m even less over my ex than I thought I was, and I – can’t. I’m sorry.”  
   
Andy, in great credit to what a nice human being he was, just winced and said, “Oh – okay.” He folded his hands in his lap and gave her a polite smile. “When did you, er, break things off with your ex?”  
   
Tonks opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Erm. In June last year? Or in April? I guess it’s complicated, actually. It was all sort of…poorly defined starts and endings.”  
   
Andy rubbed his palms on his trouser legs and tried to shift a respectful distance away from her on the loveseat, though there was only so far he could go. “Yeah, I get it,” he said. “That stuff takes time to get over, yeah?”  
   
“I’m sorry,” Tonks repeated, feeling like such a cad. “I didn’t mean to…to be weird about anything. I thought maybe I could be ready for this, but I guess it turns out I’m really not.”  
   
“That’s all right,” Andy said. “No hard feelings.” His smile was kind, though he looked embarrassed. His being so nice about it only made Tonks feel worse. “I still had a nice evening with you,” he said. “Thanks for meeting up.”  
   
“I had a nice time with you, too,” Tonks said, and she was glad she could at least say that and have it not be a lie. It had been nice to talk with someone other than her colleagues, to interact over something that wasn’t work or the Order or the war. It had been nice, for a few brief moments, to think she might be a person capable of having a relationship this innocent and uncomplicated. Even if had turned out not to be true.   
   
She wanted to tell Andy, _You’re sweet_ , but she knew that probably wasn’t what a twenty-year-old guy wanted to hear from the woman who was rejecting him, no matter how much she meant it as a compliment.  
   
Andy got to his feet, shifting his weight nervously from side to side. He looked down at Tonks and bit his lip. “Yeah, so, I guess I’ll – go.”  
   
Tonks scrambled to her feet. “Right, yeah, of course. Let me, er – I’ll see you out.”  
   
It was only a few steps across the tiny flat to the door, but it felt like much more than that when you were trying to navigate in space around a person you’d invited into your home and now were politely kicking back out again. Tonks grabbed Andy’s cloak from the back of a chair and followed him to the door, then stood by uncertainly as he shrugged into the cloak and patted its outer pockets to find his gloves.  
   
She bit back the impulse to say _I’m sorry_ again. Tonks knew what it was like to be apologised at over and over. It didn’t change anything.  
   
“So, yeah,” Andy said. “See you around?”  
   
“Yeah,” Tonks agreed. “See you around.” That was one major detraction about life in tiny Hogsmeade – they definitely would be seeing each other around town, again and again.  
   
Tonks opened the door and Andy stood there framed by it, giving her another of those bashful smiles, and Tonks thought again how stupid love could be, how it struck with no regard to logic. She felt a twinge of regret, too, because dating Andy might have been quite nice. But dating someone for whom she felt little more than a gentle tolerance – that was more than unfair.  
   
“Bye,” Andy said. Tonks gave an awkward little wave, then watched as he descended the stairs, watched until he reached the bottom of the steps and disappeared out into the dark. Only then did she close the door, lean her back against it and stare around the room in front of her. The Weird Sisters were still singing, low, into the emptiness of her flat.  
   
Tonks pushed herself away from the door and stalked back to the sofa. She switched off the wireless, then picked up both their beer bottles, not even half empty, and took them to the kitchen to dump out.  
   
She tidied everything in the flat that could possibly be tidied, but still felt full of restless energy. How frustrating to know what she _ought_ to do, that she ought to move on, but not be able to make her heart believe it.  
   
Tonks dragged one of the flat’s two high-backed wooden chairs over to the window and flung herself down onto it, staring out at the night. It was cold and clear, and the stars made painfully bright pinpricks against the wide, deep black of the sky. Tonks rested her chin on one knee and stared and stared out into the night, like things might come clearer if she watched those faraway lights long enough.  
   
The moon was out, too, and almost full. Tonks knew she would never again be able to look up at the sky and not take immediate notice the phase of the moon.  
   
It was so strange to think that Remus, too, was somewhere in Scotland, maybe not even all that far away, yet she wasn’t allowed to know where. Staring out at the cold night, Tonks tried to imagine where he might be sleeping, but her imagination failed her, as it had failed so many times before. She had no point of reference from which to start. How did werewolf packs live? The one man who could have offered insight wasn’t at hand to ask.  
   
She wondered if he was still awake. It wasn’t all that late, though the darkness of the sky made it look like the deepest night. Tonks wondered if Remus, too, was looking up at the stars right now. Was he thinking of her, in this moment when she was thinking so longingly of him? Did she want him to be thinking of her?  
   
No point, really, in both of them being miserable.  
   
Tonks tried to summon anger at Remus, but she had moved long past it. If only Remus would act in accordance with his words, if only he were a more talented liar and could do a better job of pretending not to care about her, maybe then Tonks would find it easier to move on. If she were certain that Remus was as done with her as he claimed to be, she would grieve the loss of something that had brought her joy, mourn what had been and what could have been, but she would learn to move past it.  
   
But the way he’d looked at her when they’d run into each other outside Hogwarts, his eyes stark in a face grown thinner than before, she couldn’t forget that. For all his protestations, Remus missed Tonks as desperately as Tonks missed him, and that knowledge only made everything harder.  
   
Why wouldn’t he give in, and let them both stop being unhappy?  
   
Tonks tried again to draw herself together in anger, but all she felt was a well of sadness.  
   
Was there any way to reach through Remus’ stubborn shell and change his mind? Was she wrong to hope it was possible?  
   
Tonks sat there a long time, her hands clasped around her shins and her chin resting on one knee as she gazed out at the distant stars, but she got no closer to any answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just to mention, I'm back to posting one chapter a week. I'm looking forward already to next week's chapter in particular, which I'm quite proud of. ;-)


	16. The Duel

 

_Within us the wild thing_  
 _Flickering now_  
  
_–Myrra Rós, Animal_

 

It happened a few days after the full moon.  
  
Remus had been out with Jack in search of firewood, an increasingly desperate task as the winter wore on. When they arrived back, they found the pack in chaos.  
  
The first sign of something amiss was the sound of raised voices as they approached the camp. The pack almost never argued aloud. Remus glanced at Jack, who broke into a trot, then a run. Remus sprinted after him.  
  
They burst into the clearing and Jack dove into a knot of pack members all shouting over one another. The usual fire at the entrance to the lean-to lay unlit, the ashes gone cold. Remus stood to the side, trying to parse the scene before him. Gradually, snatches of speech rose out of the tumult of angry voices, and Remus’ horror grew as he began to understand.  
  
Ronan and Tamara and Narun had been searching for food, miles away across the moor. They’d decided to raid the barn of a farm that stood alone outside a Muggle village, hoping to make away with the prize of a sheep or two. But the farmer – perhaps grown watchful after a long winter of sundry useful items going missing from his property – had seen them and followed them into the barn, wielding a shotgun meant to scare them away.  
  
But in the physical altercation that followed, Narun had struck the man and killed him.  
  
Now the camp was in an uproar, everyone shouting either that this had been inexcusable violence or that it was justifiable self-defence. At last, the Alpha stepped into the middle of it all and snapped, “Silence!” in a voice that sliced through the hubbub. The pack fell silent.  
  
“Rapids,” the Alpha said, uttering Narun’s werewolf name in that same carrying tone.  
  
Narun stepped forward, his head bowed low, until he stood directly in front of the Alpha.  
  
“You are banned from this pack for three days,” the Alpha said, his voice harsh and low. “In three days, you may return, and I will consider your status then. Take what food you need to sustain yourself for that time and go.”  
  
Narun raised his head, looked the Alpha straight in the eye and said, “I need nothing from you.”  
  
Somewhere in the pack, someone gasped.  
  
The Alpha said nothing, only stared Narun down, and Narun quailed a little under that gaze, but he didn’t drop his eyes. Then Narun turned and walked away from the Alpha, the silent pack parting to make way for him as he went. His steps were jerky, as if he longed to break into a run but was forcing himself with great effort to project an image of cool disdain.  
  
Narun walked out of the clearing and through the trees until he was swallowed by the dusk, and still the pack stood in shock. The silence rang with Narun’s last defiant words.  
  
A motion of the Alpha’s hand drew all eyes back to him. “Time to eat,” he said. “Now.”  
  
The Alpha stalked away to sit on a log at the edge of the clearing, his back to the pack. Slowly, dreamlike, the others did as they had been told. Ashmita built a fire, Jack chopped a few potatoes, Brighid readied a sparing portion of the remaining smoked meat they had preserved in the autumn.  
  
The meal was prepared in silence and eaten in silence, and the Alpha did not join them. The pack retreated early to their sleeping places in the lean-to, though Remus couldn’t imagine anyone would sleep much.  
  
The lean-to was smoky and dim, but Remus made out a shape – it was Adair, he decided, squinting through the shadows – approaching Anna in her hammock. Remus couldn’t hear what Adair said, but his posture was supplicating, surely pleading with her to intercede on Narun’s behalf. Whatever the young ones might think of their Alpha, they had nothing but respect for the Mother.  
  
But Anna, sitting up straight in her hammock, shook her head, resting one hand gently on Adair’s hair. Adair slunk away again to a far corner, where he bent his head and conferred with Tamara, their voices too low for Remus to hear.  
  
Much later, after all the pack were bedded down and quiet, the Alpha came in and made his way to his own sleeping spot, beside Brighid. Their low voices, the Alpha and his mate, were a soft hush for a long while beneath the crackling of the fire, then they too were quiet.  
  
Remus lay awake a long time, dread roiling in his stomach.  
  
What would this mean for the already fragile peace among the pack? What would it mean for Narun, who was so young – and now a murderer? He’d done something unforgiveable, yet despite the young ones’ blustering talk, Remus didn’t think Narun had set out that day with the intention to kill. He’d gone too far, and committed an act that would brand him for the rest of his life.  
  
And what of the man who had died – had been _killed_ – simply for trying to protect what was his? Had he had a wife? Children? What would his friends and neighbours believe had happened, when they found his body? Would his widow spend her whole life wondering why?  
  
Remus knew violence was an inescapable part of the hardscrabble life the werewolves lived, here at the far margins of society. He’d explained as much to Harry not long ago. But there were worlds between that theoretical knowledge and the sickening understanding, now, that someone he knew had killed an innocent person.  
  
Remus must have drifted into an uneasy sleep, because he woke in the dimness before dawn to Alpha’s voice demanding of someone, “If you know where they are, tell me.”  
  
Remus’ eyes snapped open. Ronan stood in the centre of the lean-to, cowering before the Alpha.  
  
“Tell me,” the Alpha repeated, his voice quiet thunder.  
  
“I don’t know, Alpha,” Ronan said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything.”  
  
Remus looked around for some explanation and his eyes landed on Serena, sitting against the lean-to wall near Remus with Joy asleep in her lap. At his questioning look, she shifted closer and murmured, “Blackthorn and Jump disappeared in the night. Thunderstorm and Rock Crag are out looking for them, but I doubt they’ll find them. It’s clear they’ve run off.”  
  
As always, Remus had to translate the names in his head: Tamara and Adair had run away, Jack and Ashmita were looking for them. The queasy feeling in Remus’ stomach coalesced into a sharp flare of alarm.  
  
If Tamara and Adair had run away to join Narun, and if they were all three boiling over with righteous indignation at their Alpha, who censured violence rather than celebrating it… Where else were they likely to direct their steps than to the pack of Fenrir Greyback? If there was anything worse than one hot-headed and indignant young werewolf in search of a pack that would condone violence, it was three such young werewolves banded together.  
  
The pack were subdued that day, as they went about their tasks. The Alpha spoke to no one. Ashmita and Jack returned at midday to say there was no sign of the three young ones – they must have covered their tracks well.  
  
Ronan cowered at the edges of the pack, unsure now of his place. His age-mates hadn’t trusted him with their plans, but the adults no longer trusted him either, by his association with them. Eirwen, too, huddled inside herself all day, terror on her face.  
  
In the late afternoon, Remus and Serena went out scavenging together. They said little as they made their way across the crisp snow in an icy wind, looking for wood or food or anything that might be useful to the pack. Any small thing they could find would be a boon, these days, as winter had gnawed away at their food and supplies.  
  
“You’re worried,” Serena said after a while. She had a tattered brown scarf pulled high over her mouth and nose, leaving only her eyes showing. The winter sun was sinking towards the hills and the sharp snap of their steps on the frosty ground rang out in the cold air.  
  
“Surely you are, too?” Remus asked.  
  
Serena gazed away towards the horizon, across the expanse of snow now stained orange by the setting sun. “These things happen, Quiet. Greyback’s pack is where those three have wanted to be for a long time now.”  
  
Remus’ breath caught. “So you think that’s where they’ve gone, too.”  
  
Serena laughed harshly. “Well, it’s either that, or they’re hanging about out here somewhere, having a merry party in the snow with no food and no shelter. I know which I think is more likely.”  
  
“If they join Greyback…” Remus began, shifting the few sticks and twigs he’d found to his other hand and choosing his words carefully. “If they join Greyback, they will be in a position to tell him a number of things about this pack.”  
  
“Indeed,” Serena said.  
  
“Such as the names and origins of each member.”  
  
She nodded, not looking at him.  
  
“Fenrir Greyback,” Remus continued, “is maniacally territorial. When he turns a new werewolf, he considers that individual ‘his’ for life, a member of his pack by default. He doesn’t like it when the children he turns escape his clutches.”  
  
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know,” Serena said fiercely. “He killed my sister. He turned River.”  
  
“Does he know River is here?”  
  
“No.” Serena finally glanced over at him, and Remus could see the worry etched deeply in her face. “I’ve kept a low profile. I’ve not attended any of the big gatherings, or let word get around to other packs that River is here with me.”  
  
“But when three new recruits present themselves to him, offering information about this pack…”  
  
Walking beside him, Serena shuddered violently.  
  
“Greyback knows about me,” Remus said softly. “But he knows I’ve made my life among wizards, and he seems to have given up on trying to get me, though I’m sure he wouldn’t pass up a chance if he stumbled across it. But Joy – River, I mean – and Eirwen… He may get it into his head that he wants to come and try to take them for his own.”  
  
“We’ll fight him,” Serena said, raw anger in her voice. “If he comes here and so much as tries to touch one of the children, we’ll fight him off. We may be a small pack, but we’re not dead yet.”  
  
Remus agreed, “We won’t let him hurt any of the pack.”  
  
Serena glanced over at him again, a little glimmer of humour showing through her battle-ready demeanour. “‘We’? Are you aligning yourself with us, then, Quiet?”  
  
“Of course,” Remus said, and realised he hadn’t even had to consider his answer. Of course he would stand by this pack if danger found them. He had cast in his lot with them and he cared about them, whether they ever fully accepted him or no.  
  
Remus set his shoulders more firmly as he walked. If Greyback came, they would be ready.  
  
They took turns keeping watch at night from then on. While the rest of the pack slept, one of the adults would stand at the edge of the lean-to in the bitter cold, looking out over the silent moor. The only ones exempt from the rotation were Anna, in deference to her age, and Joy, Eirwen and Ronan, all deemed to be too young.  
  
And Ronan did seem younger, with his age-mates gone. Perhaps he wasn’t as old as Remus had assumed him to be, when Ronan was being swept along by his more forceful compatriots. Remus had thought him around 20 at first, but perhaps 17 was more like it.  
  
In any case, Ronan gravitated to Eirwen, now that she was the only other member of the pack close to his age. It made Remus smile to see the two of them with their heads leaned in close, talking earnestly, but without the undercurrent of anger that had characterised so many of the other young ones’ conversations. There was little else to feel hopeful about at the moment, but Remus was glad to see the two of them becoming friends.  
  
Weeks passed, the adults stood guard nightly, but nothing happened. Had their concerns been unfounded? Or was it simply taking this long for the three young ones to find their way to Greyback’s pack, which moved around England and was not always easy to locate?  
  
It was March, with the full moon nearing and the snow still thick across the moor, when Ronan came tearing into camp in the late evening dark, shrieking, “IT’S HIM, IT’S HIM, IT’S HIM!”  
  
The pack fell into formation as if they had drilled this daily. Anna and the young ones inside the lean-to, the rest of them arrayed protectively before its entrance, the Alpha at the front.  
  
At first Remus couldn’t see anyone, although the air was crisp and clear and the moon cast its bright light across the reflective white surface of the snow-covered moor. He began to wonder if Ronan had only imagined he’d seen a man approaching.  
  
Then Remus saw him: Striding across the moor towards their stand of trees was Fenrir Greyback, with those borrowed Death Eater robes sweeping around him and two burly henchmen behind him. Remus shuddered in revulsion. Fenrir Greyback, who had deliberately bitten a four-year-old child in revenge for a slight from the child’s father. Fenrir Greyback, who stole children to swell the ranks of his pack, corrupted their bodies and then preyed on their minds.  
  
“Let me speak to him, Alpha, please,” Remus said suddenly, urgently, not taking his gaze from the sight of the three approaching werewolves, but inclining his head towards the Alpha. “His quarrel is with me more than with any of you.”  
  
_And let him forget about Eirwen and Joy_ , Remus thought. _Let the prize of conquering the city wolf who escaped him for so long make him forget there are others here that he also turned._  
  
The Alpha nodded minutely. “As you wish, Quiet.”  
  
Remus stepped forward, away from the lean-to and into the open space in front of it, as Greyback and his two henchmen broke through the trees and into the clearing.  
  
“Well, well, what have we here.” Greyback leered horribly. “Remus Lupin. Living with this pathetic bunch of misfits. This is your whole pack, is it? I send out this many when I want a small scouting party! You lot’ll starve out here by Beltane.”  
  
Remus stared back at Greyback, with his rough clothes and matted hair and long, yellowed fingernails. None of them looked entirely presentable, living out here, but Greyback seemed to revel in his bestial appearance, in looking like an animal even when in human form.  
  
But all that was an act. Remus saw this clearly for the first time, as he studied the man before him. Greyback acted the part of the mad animal as much as Remus acted the civilised human. And Remus would not let himself be intimidated, not this time.  
  
“Fenrir Greyback, how we choose to live is our affair,” Remus said, loudly and clearly. “You have no business here.”  
  
Greyback laughed, a horrible, scratchy sound. His stare, fixed on Remus, was possessive. Greyback shifted his stance and it seemed to Remus that he was deliberately posing, finding the posture that would make him look as large and imposing as possible. _Like an animal_ , Remus thought again. _Is this what it comes down to, in the end? Are we animals?_  
  
“You!” Greyback barked, pointing one grubby finger with its chipped nail at Remus. “All those years being so high-minded, eh? Too good for us werewolves, you were. But look now, turns out city wolf Lupin’s gone feral after all. So I thought it was time I came and reminded you – I own you. I had you in my jaws once, and I can do it again.”  
  
“I don’t think so,” Remus answered, amazed at the calm with which he was able to say those words, because somewhere deep inside of him, even now, a four-year-old child cowered in terror. But too much was at stake now. Remus stared Greyback down, unwilling to be made afraid.  
  
“Oh, he doesn’t think so!” Greyback guffawed, turning around to make sure his henchmen were sharing his mirth. They sniggered obediently. “Well, _I_ think so. You belong to me.”  
  
“A duel, then, to settle it,” Remus said. Behind him, he heard someone gasp. “You say you own me. I say I am my own man, my own werewolf. We settle it now, once and for all, with a fair fight. If I win, you leave this pack in peace.”  
  
If Greyback insisted on acting like an animal, then Remus would meet him on those terms, with an animal’s rule of law. And for the sake of that past child inside himself, Remus would not let his fear win.  
  
Greyback sneered. “With all your wizard learning? That’s no sort of fair fight.”  
  
“No,” Remus said. “No wands. No magic. Werewolf to werewolf.”  
  
From somewhere outside his own skin, Remus observed with wonder how easily he slipped into the werewolf way of thinking, where everything was hierarchy, everything was physical strength. Could he still call himself human now?  
  
Greyback cocked his head, sizing Remus up, his eyes narrowed and mean. One unkempt finger reached up to scratch his scraggly whiskers.  
  
Remus knew what Greyback was thinking, knew he didn’t look like much. He was half Greyback’s bodyweight at best. And when had he last been in a physical fight, without the use of a wand? How badly Remus wanted his wand now. His palm ached for its familiar warmth in his hand.  
  
Greyback stepped forward. His henchmen crowded in after him, but he waved them back. Remus could hear Greyback’s harsh breathing clearly in the crisp air between them.  
  
“All right,” Greyback growled. “One to one. No seconds, no tricks. No wands.”  
  
Someone in the pack behind Remus shifted uneasily, but no one spoke. This was his right, to fight his own duel. No werewolf would step in to stop it if this was Remus’ choice.  
  
“Agreed.” Remus nodded, and he barely had time to brace himself before Greyback lunged.  
  
The smell assailed him even before Greyback’s hands did, the rank stench of animal. Then Greyback’s powerful arms slammed into Remus’ chest, Greyback’s body barrelled into his, and Remus was on the ground with Greyback snarling in his face.  
  
For a split-second, Remus felt searing panic. Then muscle memory took over. Thank Merlin, thank the moon, thank whatever might be, his body remembered how to do this. Remus wrestled Greyback’s hands from his throat, shoved Greyback away and won himself enough room to breathe.  
  
“You – are – _mine_ ,” Greyback hissed.  
  
“I am no one’s but my own.” Remus shouted the words, despite being winded from his fall. He could feel the snow under his back melting and seeping coldly through to his skin. Greyback’s cloak was greasy and slick, and it was hard to gain purchase when Remus tried to grip him.  
  
“I will own you. I will bite you,” Greyback snarled, his eyes wide and crazed and mere inches from Remus’ face. His head darted suddenly closer, teeth bared, and Remus barely managed to crane his neck and avoid Greyback’s lacerating jaws.  
  
They grappled. Remus lost track of time, knew nothing but Greyback’s muscles under his hands, Greyback’s matted hair whipping him in the face as they rolled and rolled across the cold ground, locked in a hateful embrace. The world seemed to go still, as if time itself had stopped for this battle. And Remus was alive, terribly so, aware of every sinew in his body, every motion of his opponent’s limbs. No one else existed except this ancient enemy, the one he must vanquish, the one he must stop from ever harming another child.  
  
Greyback nearly got him pinned, but Remus rolled away. Greyback snarled and lunged again. Remus snarled back and got his hands on Greyback’s throat, but Greyback tore free. They were more closely matched than Remus had dared to hope. Greyback was brutal, but Remus was clever, conserving strength and using Greyback’s own force against him when he could.  
  
Then came a moment when Remus thought he had lost. Greyback had him pinned, and no matter how Remus struggled and turned, he couldn’t break free. Remus panted. He’d improved his strength and endurance, scavenging long distances across the moor, but he was not as young as he’d once been. And Greyback was twice his size and holding him down with his whole weight. Remus’ mind struck out furiously in search of any idea that might save him.  
  
Unexpectedly, what floated into his mind was a simple question: _What would Sirius do?_  
  
And the answer came just as fast: _Laugh in his face, defiant to the last._  
  
Remus indeed laughed out loud in surprise at the thought, and the sound of his own laughter rang out strange and wild into the night. Greyback stared down at him, disconcerted.  
  
“Fenrir Greyback,” Remus said, and his voice, too, carried powerfully through the crisp night air. “You can never own me. You might kill me tonight, but you can never own me.”  
  
Remus laughed again, in pure relief at that understanding.  
  
Greyback’s mouth opened, confused. His grip slackened for just an instant, and Remus seized his advantage, knowing he wouldn’t get another, flipping them so he was on top of Greyback, knees pinning his shoulders, hands at his throat, thumbs at his pulse points and ready to press down.  
  
That pulse jumped frantically beneath Remus’ hands. Greyback struggled, but couldn’t break free. Remus finally had him in a place where angle mattered more than brute strength. Greyback snarled up at him.  
  
Remus leaned in closer. “I will tear your throat out,” he hissed in Greyback’s face. “Do you doubt I would do it?”  
  
Greyback bared his teeth again, but his eyes were wide with fear.  
  
“Quiet!” someone cried out.  
  
It was Serena’s voice, and it startled Remus back to himself. He stared down at his foe under his hands. Had he been moments away from committing murder? Remus shivered, horrified.  
  
Killing Greyback would be his right, as victor of the duel. But what vengeance would that unleash on the pack? Greyback’s two henchmen might retreat, but they would return with an army, and this small pack couldn’t hope to hold their own. They would all be slaughtered, because Remus had not been able to control his very personal rage.  
  
“You go free,” Remus spat at Greyback, though he did not yet loosen his hold. “You go free tonight, Fenrir Greyback, if you give your word never to harm any member of this pack. Leave us in peace and never challenge us again.”  
  
Remus heard the two henchmen shifting anxiously, somewhere beyond the torn-up ground where he and Greyback had grappled, but he kept his gaze fixed on Greyback’s livid eyes.  
  
Finally, Greyback nodded, arching his neck so his throat was exposed. “Yes,” he rasped. “You have won. I will leave you in peace.”  
  
Remus released his hold and flung himself up to a standing position, suddenly desperate to be away from the grimy touch of Greyback’s skin.  
  
Snarling with rage and defeat, Greyback too picked himself up from the ground and stepped away, retreating to join his two followers.  
  
Remus stood square and faced them. “Leave now. If you ever return, know that you’ll have to face me.”  
  
“And I stand with him.” From somewhere behind him, Serena stepped forward, until she had placed herself precisely at Remus’ side. “We stand together.”  
  
Greyback cast her a sordid leer, not too defeated for a parting shot. “Got yourself a feral bit on the side, Lupin?”  
  
“Better than that,” Serena said, her voice solid and unafraid. “A friend. If you have quarrel with Quiet, then you have quarrel with me. Remember that.”  
  
“And I stand with them,” came the Alpha’s deep voice, as he too stepped forward. “If you have quarrel with one of my pack, you have quarrel with all of us, Greyback, as you well know.”  
  
Greyback took a half-step back, making one of his henchmen stumble when Greyback bumped into his shoulder.  
  
And one by one, the pack stepped forward. Brighid. Jack and Ashmita. Ronan. Only Eirwen and Joy and Anna stayed behind, safe in the shadows of the lean-to.  
  
Greyback sneered, but it was a weak imitation of his former posturing. He turned, heavy-footed, and motioned to his two henchmen with a curt wave of his hand. All three strode away, their pace increasing until they were nearly running, and the pack stood silently and watched until Greyback and his two followers had disappeared into the dark over the moor.  
  
When they had gone, Serena laughed once, then flung her head back and from her human throat released an unmistakeable howl. There was a beat of silence, then the whole pack joined her, howling their victory to the sky, a wild sound that made Remus’ hair stand on end. But he followed instinct, and he raised his head too and howled.  
  
The tension was broken. The pack burst into the first true laughter Remus had heard here in weeks or months, great whoops of glee at Greyback’s consternation at finding himself defeated, at how he’d tried to appear haughty, but then had turned and run.  
  
From the dim interior of the lean-to, a slight figure emerged and flung itself at Remus – Eirwen. She was sobbing, great gasps of relief, as she threw herself against Remus’ chest. Remus, startled, put his arms around her.  
  
“Thank you,” Eirwen whispered against his chest, and Remus patted her on the back until she calmed, the awkward recipient of her gratitude.  
  
When the hubbub had subsided, and Eirwen had returned to Joy and Anna in the lean-to, Remus approached the Alpha. The Alpha nodded his assent that Remus might speak.  
  
“You told me once that I would be of little use until I knew who I was,” Remus said. Adrenalin still thrummed and sang in his veins. “I know now who I am. I am someone who is at home among both humans and werewolves, and able to stand my ground with both. For now, I choose to cast my lot here, with this pack. So I would like to ask you, from a werewolf to his Alpha: May I stay here, as one of the pack?”  
  
Remus could feel the collective intake of breath from the pack around him, as the Alpha studied Remus with his all-knowing eyes.  
  
Then the Alpha nodded. “Yes, Quiet. You are one of the pack.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, for reference, here's the werewolf pack:
> 
> the Alpha, a male in his 40s, the pack’s leader  
> Anna, or the Mother, the oldest pack member, symbolic mother of all  
> Brighid, or Fire, the Alpha’s mate, roughly his age  
> Serena, or Trouble, roughly Remus’ age  
> Jack, or Thunderstorm, a little younger than the Alpha, Ashmita’s mate  
> Ashmita, or Rock Crag, Jack’s mate  
> Ronan, or Hardwood, young adult member of the pack, perhaps 20  
> Narun, or Rapids, roughly the same age  
> Adair, or Jump, roughly the same age  
> Tamara, or Blackthorn, roughly the same age  
> Eirwen, or Slither, a young teenager, 13 or 14  
> Joy, or River Run, the pack’s youngest member, 6 or 7


	17. Worse Than No News

 

 _Oh, to see your dear face_  
_To call out your dear name_  
   
_–Lucie Thorne, When I Get There_  
   
   
The next morning, the Alpha was nowhere to be seen. Given how pensive he’d looked the night before, Remus supposed he’d gone somewhere to claim a bit of silence with his own thoughts.  
   
The rest of the pack went about their usual tasks, but with a new lightness to their movements. Serena smiled at Remus over Joy’s head. Ronan, passing Remus on the way out of the lean-to, ducked his head with the respect due to an elder. And Eirwen, from where she sat in a corner of the lean-to twisting brittle moorland grasses into kindling, watched Remus all day with luminous eyes.  
   
When the Alpha returned to the camp that evening, he summoned Remus to him. “Tell your Alpha in the city I am willing to parley,” he said.  
   
It took Remus, standing with his head respectfully bowed, several seconds to parse that sentence. Your Alpha in the city. Oh: _Dumbledore._  
   
“I will meet him on neutral ground,” the Alpha continued. “You may send word to him to arrange it.”  
   
Remus’ head felt light. At long last, he was being asked to do precisely what he’d come here all those months ago hoping to do, bring werewolves and humans together in dialogue.  
   
“Yes, Alpha,” he said. “Thank you, Alpha.”  
   
Tomorrow, he would find his way to a town and send an owl to Dumbledore, telling him that the Alpha of a werewolf pack was willing to meet.  
   
– – – – –  
   
On an icy day in March, within the walls of Hogwarts – those supposedly safe and impenetrable walls – Ron Weasley got himself poisoned by drinking mead intended for Dumbledore.  
   
It made Tonks frantic to think this had happened on her watch, in a place she was supposed to be protecting. Someone was scheming against Dumbledore, but it was a student who had nearly died as a result. This was Katie Bell and that cursed necklace all over again – and both of those things, the cursed necklace and the poisoned mead, traced their origins back to Hogsmeade.  
   
How had that mead got into the castle? Who had sent it? Who had _poisoned_ it? Tonks barely slept for days, interviewing and re-interviewing everyone she could get her hands on. But no one had seen anything. No one knew.  
   
A tearful Rosmerta insisted over and over that no one else but she could have been in the cellar where the mead was stored. No one else had the key.  
   
There were bags under Rosmerta’s eyes and her skin looked ashen, when Tonks interviewed her later in the day after Ron’s near-poisoning. Rosmerta seemed to be taking the breach of her mead supply as personally as Tonks took this violation of the village’s safety under her watch.  
   
In occasional moments of mad desperation, Tonks wondered if she should even suspect Rosmerta herself. But who could possibly have _less_ reason to want to harm Dumbledore than kind and gentle-hearted Rosmerta?  
   
Or could Rosmerta be under an Imperius curse? But her speech was clear and unaltered from its usual cadences, her eyes unclouded by confusion as she went about her work. It would have to be a pretty inexpertly cast Imperius, to affect the victim so patchily, leaving them their own master for much of the time.  
   
And besides, once Tonks started casting doubts on Rosmerta, who’d been a friend to Dumbledore and all the Hogwarts staff for decades, where could she possibly end? In theory _anyone_ in the village could be under an Imperius curse, and by the same token _no one_ stood out as more likely to be compromised than anyone else. Tonks was at her wits’ end, and none of the possible solutions she turned around and around in her mind as she lay awake in her attic bedroom each night made any sense.  
   
Day to day, Tonks stumbled on in a state of exhaustion. Dementors attacked the village with increasing frequency, sometimes several times in a week. Reliving her worst memories over and over, in those first moments before her Patronus charged the Dementors and drove them back, was draining. Tonks heard Sirius’ laughter, heard him shouting and whooping in battle at the Ministry, saw the wild and terrifying fervour in Bellatrix’s maniacal eyes. At night, too, Tonks’ dreams were unsettled, full of dark shapes and lurking menace.  
   
As the weather thawed, the Ministry’s instructors sometimes brought the older students to the village for their Apparation lessons. Regardless of whether she was officially on duty, Tonks took to hanging about nearby whenever a lesson was taking place. She would _not_ let another student be harmed on her watch.  
   
One evening, as Tonks was making her weary way back to her flat after one such Apparition lesson, something caught her eye: a flash of gold amidst the grey cobblestones of the high street, outside the Three Broomsticks.  
   
Was it a Galleon someone had dropped? Tonks thought so at first, but as she stooped to look more closely –  
   
“Oh, goodness!” cried Madam Rosmerta. She’d materialised seemingly from nowhere and now swept in front of Tonks, scooping up the gold coin from the ground and tucking it away in her apron. “One of my regular customers, always so careless with his coins! I’ll make sure this gets back to him.” She gave a strange, high laugh, her hands fluttering nervously.  
   
Tonks narrowed her eyes. This was not like the Rosmerta she knew, who was warm and funny and almost always unflappable.  
   
“Are you all right?” Tonks asked.  
   
Rosmerta laughed again, nervy and on edge, and brushed frantically at a wisp of hair that the cold wind kept blowing into her eyes. “Oh, yes, as much as anyone can be, I suppose. It’s just – oh, the Dementors all the time, and the fear of You-Know-Who, that he could come here any time with no warning, and the constant feeling you’re being watched, do you feel like that too? Like someone you can’t see is monitoring everything you do?” Her voice rose feverishly.  
   
Tonks laid a concerned hand on her arm, and Rosmerta startled at the contact.  
   
“Oh, ignore me!” Rosmerta cried. “I’m sorry, Tonks, listen to me going on and on! I should know better than to bother you, dear. You’ve got so many more important things to do than to worry about old me.”  
   
“It’s my job,” Tonks assured her. “That’s my job, to worry about everybody in this village. Which includes you. Do you want to – to talk, or something? Sit down and chat for a bit?”  
   
Rosmerta shifted her arm gently out from under Tonks’ hand. “No, really, I’m all right, love. You go on home, I’m sure you’ve had a long day, you don’t need anything more to fret about. Go on.” She patted Tonks’ hand and turned briskly back towards the pub. She disappeared inside, the door clacking neatly into place behind her.  
   
Tonks stared after her, wishing she’d thought faster and found some way to be of help. What did it say about the state of the world if even unflappable Rosmerta was starting to crack?  
   
**– – – – –**  
   
They met on neutral ground, as the Alpha had requested, on an open stretch of moorland far from any village and far from the werewolves’ camp, shortly before the full moon.  
   
Remus stood by the Alpha, beside him but a little behind, and waited. He hadn’t been able to give Dumbledore a more specific meeting time than “when the sun is high in the sky,” seeing as none of them here kept timepieces.  
   
But it was not long before Dumbledore came striding towards them across the moor. Dumbledore had done them the courtesy, Remus saw, of arriving on foot rather than by Apparition, to keep himself and the Alpha on level footing. Remus’ heart leapt in his chest at this little reminder of how attuned Dumbledore was to potential intercultural pitfalls. It made Remus think this meeting could actually work.  
   
Dumbledore reached them and inclined his head in a bow. To Remus’ surprise, the Alpha bowed back. Both men lifted their heads.  
   
“You are the Alpha of this group that would oppose Voldemort,” the Alpha said.  
   
“Yes, my role could be described that way,” agreed Dumbledore, with a slight smile. “My name is Albus Dumbledore. Please feel free to call me Albus.”  
   
“My name is Silver Birch,” the Alpha said, and Remus blinked back his own startled reaction. He himself would never have dared to ask the Alpha his name. Once a werewolf was an Alpha, he needed no other title. Even Greyback, for all he used that name among humans, was simply “Alpha” to his own pack.  
   
“Silver Birch, it is my very great pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Dumbledore said.  
   
“Likewise,” the Alpha said, his voice formal and grave.  
   
“It is an honour to be invited here to speak with you. I know the harm your kind have often suffered at the hands of my kind, and I recognise the great trust required for such a meeting.”  
   
“The werewolf Quiet has vouched for you,” the Alpha said, indicating Remus with one hand.  
   
Dumbledore’s eyes caught Remus’, wry and gently amused. “Indeed. Then I am very grateful to Remus, or Quiet, as you call him.”  
   
These introductions complete, the Alpha proceeded directly to business. “I am not interested in joining your war,” he said. “It is a wizards’ war, and concerns us only when it encroaches on our lives, as it has lately done. It is a strange day when a werewolf rather than a man is the one threatening to take away what little freedom a werewolf has, but we have arrived at strange days. And so I would hear what your side have to say.”  
   
Dumbledore inclined his head. “It would be my pleasure to oblige that request.”  
   
Remus cleared his throat softly and said, “I will leave you to conduct your discussion in confidence. Please call on me if you need me.” Remus was here to serve as facilitator and cultural translator, but it was not his place to hear what the two leaders discussed, unless they chose to share that with him.  
   
The Alpha and Dumbledore both nodded, so Remus walked a distance away across the moor, far enough that he could still make out their figures but not hear their voices.  
   
Remus stood there on the open moor, feeling the brisk March wind sharp on his face, with such elation rising in him that he could barely breathe. The leader of the Order and the leader of the pack were talking. It was more than Remus had ever dared to hope.  
   
The two men had spoken without pause for well over an hour when the Alpha finally raised an arm to summon Remus.  
   
“It has been a great pleasure to speak with you,” Dumbledore was saying when Remus reached them, and indeed he looked quite moved. He extended his hand and the Alpha, to Remus’ surprise, took it in his own and shook it. It was a surprisingly human gesture.  
   
The Alpha released Dumbledore’s hand and inclined his head. “I return the sentiment.”  
   
“Remus,” Dumbledore said, smiling as he turned to where Remus stood a little apart from them. “Silver Birch and I have had a most fruitful conversation. I thank you for arranging it.”  
   
“It has been my honour,” Remus said formally.  
   
“We have been talking not only of the current conflict, but also of protective measures and legal reforms that might make life among wizards more tenable for werewolves,” Dumbledore went on. “There is much still to discuss, and we would like to continue this dialogue we have begun. Since we will not always both be able to leave our respective obligations in order to meet, we have agreed to each appoint a liaison.”  
   
“You shall be the pack’s liaison, Quiet,” the Alpha said. “You know the humans best and you know how to contact Albus, your city Alpha, when necessary.”  
   
“It would be an honour, Alpha,” Remus repeated.  
   
Dumbledore studied Remus over his half-moon spectacles with his uncomfortably all-seeing gaze. “And for my part,” he said, “I shall appoint the Auror Nymphadora Tonks as liaison, since she is currently stationed in Hogsmeade Village. Is that amenable to you?”  
   
For a breathless moment, Remus stared back at his former headmaster and thought, _He knows_. _How in Merlin’s name does he know?_  
   
And if Dumbledore did know the complicated history between Tonks and Remus, then how could he think it fair to make them meet one-on-one like this?  
   
But Remus would not say that, of course. Remus would never allow his personal feelings to stand in the way of duty. “That will be fine,” he said instead.  
   
Dumbledore smiled fleetingly and turned to the Alpha. “Silver Birch. All my best to you and your pack until we meet again.”  
   
The Alpha replied, “And all my best to your pack.”  
   
Dumbledore inclined his head in acknowledgement, then turned and strode away. Again, he didn’t Disapparate until he was out of sight.  
   
Remus walked beside the Alpha back to the camp, in silence at first. But after an interval of several minutes, the Alpha said, “Your city Alpha, this Albus Dumbledore, has more sympathy for other Beings than I expected to find in a wizard. I wish to continue the acquaintance.” Abruptly, as though the words were unfamiliar to him, he added, “Thank you.”  
   
Remus nearly tripped over a tuft of grass protruding from the last, late snow. “You’re welcome,” he hurried to say. “I’m very glad to have been of service.”  
   
They said nothing more, but walked back to the camp in thoughtful silence.  
   
**– – – – –**  
   
Savage, arriving to relieve Tonks at the end of a shift, mentioned carelessly, “Did you hear? There was a five-year-old kid killed by a werewolf last night. Healers couldn’t save him. He died at St Mungo’s from the injuries.”  
   
He said it in the way people talk about news that’s rather sad but doesn’t affect them personally, news they’ll forget as soon as they’ve finished telling it. Tonks, though, felt as if her heart had dropped all the way through her stomach and into the ground.  
   
The werewolf couldn’t be Remus. Surely, _surely_ , it couldn’t be Remus?  
   
Tonks had been looking forward to catching a few hours of sleep, now that she was finally off duty. A horde of seventeen-year-olds were currently Splinching themselves all over Hogsmeade as part of an Apparition lesson, but luckily that was Proudfoot’s responsibility for once, and Tonks’ plans for the rest of the day had involved going back to her flat and collapsing into bed. Now, though, she had no thought but to get news of Remus.  
   
She had to find Dumbledore. Dumbledore would know.  
   
Tonks bade Savage a distracted goodbye and rushed to the school. She raced up stairs and down corridors, tripping over her feet in her hurry, telling herself all the time, _It wasn’t Remus who killed a child last night, it can’t have been Remus because Remus would never let that happen. Oh, Merlin, please don’t let it be Remus…_  
   
Dumbledore wasn’t in his office.  
   
Tonks bit down hard on her bottom lip and tried to breathe through her panic. Who else could she ask? Would McGonagall know? Might McGonagall at least know where Dumbledore went, when he did these mysterious disappearances of his? Tonks snarled aloud in frustration. Of all the times for Dumbledore to be unreachable!  
   
She flung herself away from the headmaster’s office and rushed back along the corridor, set on finding _someone_ who might know what had happened.  
   
Instead, she found Harry.  
   
He was hopping around in the middle of a corridor and shouting “OUCH!” It appeared he’d just kicked a wall in frustration.  
   
“Harry?” Tonks asked, momentarily startled into a standstill.  
   
Harry spun round, still clutching the toe he’d stubbed, then promptly overbalanced and toppled over. “What’re you doing here?” he demanded, looking embarrassed as he scrambled up again.  
   
“I came to see Dumbledore,” Tonks said. Maybe Harry would know where Dumbledore had gone?  
   
“His office isn’t here. It’s round the other side of the castle, behind the gargoyle –”  
   
“I know,” Tonks cut him off. As if finding the way to Dumbledore’s office were her only worry! “He’s not there. Apparently he’s gone away again.”  
   
“Has he?” Harry tested his weight on the foot he’d injured and seemed to find himself able to stand, if a little lopsidedly. “Hey – you don’t know where he goes, I suppose?”  
   
“No,” Tonks said, feeling her frustration mounting with every passing second. They were going in circles, Tonks hoping Harry might know where Dumbledore was, and Harry hoping she knew. They were all looking to Dumbledore for guidance and Dumbledore wasn’t there.  
   
Harry was still talking, curious now. “What did you want to see him about?”  
   
“Nothing in particular,” Tonks mumbled, too distraught to invent placating lies for Harry. “I just thought he might know what’s going on…I’ve heard rumours…people getting hurt…”  
   
“Yeah, I know, it’s all been in the papers. That little kid trying to kill his –”  
   
“The Prophet’s often behind the times,” Tonks said impatiently. If you were a member of the Order and privy to information that never made it as far as the newspaper, then a nine-year-old arrested for trying to kill his grandparents was unfortunately already old news.  
   
And all the while, icy panic was clawing inside Tonks’ chest. Remus would never, _never_ allow himself to harm anyone, let alone a child, but what if he’d lost control of a situation, or been forced to do something dangerous? If Remus was the werewolf who’d killed a child last night, even through no fault of his own, he would never forgive himself. And Tonks had no way of knowing where he was or how he’d spent the full moon.  
   
Finally, a coherent thought – maybe Harry had heard from him? “You haven’t had any letters from anyone in the Order recently?” she asked.  
   
Harry shook his head. “No one from the Order writes to me any more, not since Sirius –”  
   
To Tonks’ horror, she felt tears threatening to spill from her eyes. If Remus was out of contact from even Harry –  
   
“I’m sorry,” Harry was saying, “I mean…I miss him, as well…”  
   
“What?” Tonks asked. She’d lost the thread of the conversation and all she knew was that she had to find Dumbledore, had to keep moving. She didn’t have a lot of thought to spare for Harry right now, which she knew wasn’t fair, but the other matter on her mind was just too urgent. She left Harry in the corridor with a vague, “Well…I’ll see you around Harry…”  
   
McGonagall wasn’t in her office either. Tonks paced the school all afternoon, losing track of how many times she tried Dumbledore’s office. Finally, in the evening, the gargoyle at the door stepped aside at the password “peppermint bats,” and Tonks entered to find Dumbledore placidly seated at his desk.  
   
“Ah, Nymphadora,” he said, looking up. For the first time in that long day, Tonks pulled up short and pictured how she must look – lank hair falling in her face, eyes raw.  
   
“Remus,” she said, with no energy left to spare for anything else. “Have you heard anything from Remus? It wasn’t him, was it, who – who killed that child?”  
   
Dumbledore gestured inquiringly towards a chair, but Tonks shook her head and kept pacing.  
   
“Set your mind at rest, Nymphadora,” Dumbledore said kindly. “I’ve met with Remus recently, and he is nowhere near where the child was murdered. Won’t you have a seat?”  
   
“You’ve _seen_ –?” Dumbledore had visited Remus, knew he was safe, and hadn’t seen fit to share that information with anyone? Tonks bit down on her resentment, because that wasn’t the important thing right now. The important thing was that Remus was safe.  
   
“Yes,” Dumbledore repeated, sounding a fraction less patient this time. “I have seen Remus, and he is well. In fact, your visit is fortuitous, for I have something I would like to discuss with you.”  
   
Now Tonks dropped down into the chair he’d offered, relief washing through her and leaving her weak.  
   
“I met recently with Remus and the Alpha werewolf of the pack he has joined,” Dumbledore went on. “It was an enlightening tête-à-tête, and we have agreed to remain in contact. Remus will serve as liaison from the pack’s side, and I would be most gratified if you would consent to do the same on this end.”  
   
Tonks, struggling to focus as her body crashed down from its adrenalin high after hours of panic, said, “Sorry, what did you say? Liaison to…the werewolf pack?”  
   
“We will need a liaison here, for times when I am not available. You are ideally suited, being both a member of the Order of the Phoenix and located here in Hogsmeade. May I tell Remus that he can contact you?”  
   
Tonks stared at him. This whole day had been some kind of strange dream, right? Savage casually mentioning a child’s death, Tonks’ fear for Remus and her frantic search for news of him, the bizarre interlude of running into Harry, and now here was Dumbledore politely asking if he could pair her with Remus on an assignment for the Order?  
   
“Er, yeah, okay,” Tonks said. “I can be the liaison.”  
   
“Excellent,” Dumbledore said, in a tone of voice that suggested he would have rubbed his hands together in contentment, if he’d had two functioning hands.  
   
“There’s another thing,” Tonks said, pulling herself out of her dazed relief, because she ought to seize this chance while she had Dumbledore’s ear. “There’s something going on in the village. I don’t know what exactly, but it’s got to be more than coincidence. That cursed necklace in the autumn, then the poisoned mead. Both those things came into the school from Hogsmeade.”  
   
Dumbledore nodded, polite, giving nothing away.  
   
“Someone is trying to kill you!” Tonks burst out, leaning urgently forward to the very edge of her chair. “And kids are getting harmed in the process! Aren’t you _concerned_?”  
   
Dumbledore’s eyes flashed. “What happens under the roof of this school is indeed my concern, and I dare say you can trust that I will handle it appropriately.”  
   
Tonks startled back in her seat. For a moment, Dumbledore’s eyes had burned with terrifying fire.  
   
She steeled herself, aware she was challenging the greatest wizard of the modern era, a man many times her age. She sat up straight. “I just don’t want to see any more children get hurt.”  
   
Dumbledore’s countenance softened. “Nor do I, Nymphadora. Believe me, nor do I.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just thought I'd mention, since I can't remember if I've made specific mention about it before. (Probably I have? If so, apologies!) But:
> 
> Those song snippets at the start of each chapter aren't just there for my own amusement. Well, okay, yes they are... But _also_ they relate to the playlists I've made for both halves of this series, "Be the Light in My Lantern" and "Raise Your Lantern High" – one song for each chapter, in some cases simply because a lyric fit the theme of a chapter particularly well, in others because the whole melody and mood of a song fit.
> 
> I know, it's kinda dorky matching songs to fics... But I really put a lot of fun and love into the project. So if you want to hear the songs themselves (or even listen to the mix while reading the story – I certainly listened to it a lot while writing the story!) you can find the ["Raise Your Lantern High" mix here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4867541/chapters/11538679), or both mixes ("Be the Light in My Lantern" + "Raise Your Lantern High") [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4867541/chapters/11157113).
> 
> There are some musical matches there that I'm particularly pleased with, like Lisa Hannigan's achingly nostalgic "Little Bird" for the chapter "Samhain Night," or of course Josh Ritter's anthem of hope in dark times "Lantern," which gave this whole story its title! 
> 
> Happy listening. :-)


	18. Scents of Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting this week's chapter! I was moving out of one house and into another (still unpacking boxes...) and I'm a bit behind on everything. Hope you enjoy!

   
   
_And in the spring I shed my skin_  
_And it blows away with the changing wind_  
   
_–Florence + the Machine, Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)_  
   
   
Tonks stood outside the Three Broomsticks, her foot tapping with anxious energy she couldn’t quite contain. The first pale hints of spring were emerging around the village, blades of grass slipping up between the cobblestones and tightly furled buds revealing themselves on the branches of the trees. Today for the first time she’d worn her favourite spring cloak, a vivid red one, instead of her more sombre winter wear.  
   
Nervously crossing and uncrossing her arms as she waited there in the Hogsmeade high street, seeing that flash of red in the corner of her vision whenever her eye caught sight of her own sleeves, Tonks was unexpectedly reminded of an old Muggle tale her dad had told her when she was small, the one about the girl in the red cloak and the dangerous, scheming wolf she met on her way through the woods. Tonks frowned. Yes, she was here to meet a man who was also a wolf. But he was nothing like that old prejudiced folktale view of what a wolf must be.  
   
“Something the matter?” asked a quiet voice at her ear. Tonks whirled towards the sound, overbalanced, stumbled half a step forward, and Remus’ hand caught her impeccably by the elbow.  
   
Her co-liaison had arrived for their meeting.  
   
“Hi,” Tonks gasped.  
   
“Hello,” Remus said, his eyes fixed sombrely on hers.  
   
Oh, he was a feast for the eyes. Remus was pale and thin in his endlessly patched clothes, but he didn’t look any worse than he’d done that day when Tonks had seen him, so briefly, outside the Hogwarts gates. And most of all, he was whole. He was safe. He was _here_.  
   
Remus glanced down, realised he still held Tonks’ elbow in his hand, and let go.  
   
“Happy birthday, belatedly,” Tonks blurted out. “Tell me you didn’t forget your own birthday _again_.”  
   
Remus gave a laugh, short and startled, but a very welcome sound. “No,” he said. “Not at all. But the pack don’t observe much in the way of birthdays. We celebrated the spring equinox far more than we did any one person’s birthday.”  
   
_We_ , he said. _We_ , the pack, had celebrated the equinox. No other single word could have reminded Tonks so forcefully how much time had passed, how much must have changed, since she’d last properly spoken to Remus.  
   
“It’s, um,” she said. “It’s good to see you.”  
   
“And you,” Remus said, his voice thick with – what exactly? Emotions, yes, but which ones?  
   
Tonks studied him, probing with her eyes for signs of injury or illness. So many full moons he’d come back from his travels and she’d studied him like this, looking closely to reassure herself he really was all right.  
   
Accurately assessing the meaning of her gaze, Remus said, “I’m fine, Dora, truly. The pack I live with is a peaceful one. They themselves pose no danger to me.”  
   
Anger flashed through Tonks, or maybe it was a spike of the same fear and worry that had been her constant companions through all these many months of no contact from Remus, no way to know if he was even still alive. She felt the panic of it flare in her stomach, a residual fear. “Well, it would have been great if you’d ever bothered to _tell_ me that,” she snapped.  
   
Remus stared at her, like it had never occurred to him that she might worry.  
   
Tonks straightened her shoulders, angry at herself, now, for letting her feelings slip out. This was meant to be a work meeting, liaison to liaison, werewolf pack to Order of the Phoenix. It hurt so much, to stand here in front of Remus at long last and then talk about nothing but business, but that’s what she was supposed to do. This was work, this was the Order. This was not meant to be about them.  
   
A spring breeze ruffled Remus’ hair, and Tonks stared up over his head and tried to pull her voice back to something halfway professional. Finally, when she felt able to get the words out, she said, “So, let’s talk business. Dumbledore’s been hinting he wants me to try to arrange a meeting with some of the pack. Did he say the same to you? What’s the plan?”  
   
“I –” Remus hesitated, then seemed to gather himself. “Yes, I think that should be possible. It will take time and some convincing, but I hope eventually to bring a few of the pack members here to visit Hogsmeade. I would very much like for them to have a chance to see that there are some good sides to wizarding society, not only the prejudice they’ve experienced.” Again, he hesitated, then said more softly, “And I’d like – I’d like for you to meet them. You of all people, Dora, would be able to see them for the people they are.”  
   
It was unfair. So unfair of him to say a thing like that, and give her a look like _that_ , and still be intending to leave after this meeting and disappear back into his other life.  
   
“Sure, I’d be glad to,” Tonks said, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt. “Bring the pack here, if they’re willing to come. We could meet up for a day, I could show them around the village.”  
   
Remus was giving her that grave look, almost awed, that he got whenever she reacted to talk of werewolves with equanimity instead of the horror and disgust he seemed to expect.  
   
Tonks sympathised with the experiences he must have had, to leave him expecting such contempt from everyone he met. She sympathised so much. But Remus was staring at her like the offer she’d just made was something extraordinary, and it wasn’t. She was certain it wasn’t. Anyone would offer the same, once they’d had a chance to get to know a few werewolves and understand that they were people, too. Tonks believed that. She had to believe it, or what was the point of all this, the pain of this terrible war?  
   
“Right,” she said with great determination. “Tell me about the pack. Give me some background, so I know a bit about them when we meet.”  
   
– – – – –  
   
“I’ve changed my mind,” Remus said, approaching Serena with the slightly submissive posture of a werewolf asking an equal for a favour. “Would you teach me to retain memories from my wolf mind, starting this next full moon? I would like to learn.”  
   
Serena looked up from where she was whittling an as-yet-unidentifiable object from a piece of wood and raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you, now?”  
   
Remus dropped to his haunches beside her, a position that now felt like a natural one in which to hold a conversation. “I realise I can never learn it as well as I could do if I’d trained from the time I was a child, but I would like to try to learn what I can.”  
   
After a full moon night, Remus never woke with more than a vague sense that he had or hadn’t eaten, had or hadn’t run all night and worn his limbs into exhaustion. He could never tell stories, as the others here did, of games and races he’d engaged in with another werewolf, or how many hares he had chased across the moor, or how the bright moon had shone behind scudding clouds. Remus had no conscious memory of ever having seen a full moon.  
   
And since he’d met with Tonks in Hogsmeade, not only had she been on his mind even more constantly than before, but some strange sense had been brewing in Remus that this – learning to recall what he could of the time spent in his wolf mind – was a thing he needed to do to better understand himself. It dismayed him, now: How had he ever thought he could be a partner to Tonks when he didn’t have even a rudimentary understanding of such a significant part of himself? Yet another aspect of his own astonishing naïveté. Not only had he never tried to train this part of his mind, but he’d presumptuously believed he didn’t need to.  
   
Serena gave him a considering look, then nodded. “I’ll teach you,” she said. “You can practise together with the children this full moon.”  
   
On the day of the full moon, in the early evening before the sun set, Serena sat Remus down next to Joy and Eirwen at one side of the clearing. First, she ran them through a series of breathing and focusing exercises. She explained, for Remus’ benefit, “The idea is to cultivate a habit, in the human mind as well as the wolf mind, of listening to our unconscious senses, not only our conscious ones. So, let’s practise: What do you smell right now?”  
   
“The campfire. Grass. New yew tree needles,” Eirwen answered promptly. Her confidence had grown in leaps and bounds in the weeks since the pack had driven Greyback away.  
   
“Cold,” said little Joy. “Not snow, but maybe, like it’s an idea of snow? Is it going to snow again tonight, Mama?”  
   
Serena lifted her nose towards the sky and inhaled deeply. “Hmm. Could well be. Well done, Little One.”  
   
Joy wriggled happily. “I hope it does snow, just one more time. _Then_ it’s allowed to be spring.”  
   
“What about you, Quiet?” Serena asked. “What do you smell?”  
   
Remus closed his eyes and inhaled. “Werewolves,” he said, the first and strongest scent that came to him. There were subtleties of scent that distinguished a werewolf, small differences that lurked beneath the outwardly human form.  
   
“How many?” Serena probed.  
   
Remus kept his eyes closed, asking his conscious awareness to stand down, letting the minute informational threads drifting on the breeze pass through and around him. “Seven,” he said finally. “I think Alpha and Thunderstorm must be away hunting right now.”  
   
“Hm, good,” Serena said.  
   
They ran through similar exercises with their senses of sight and of hearing, then rounded out the session with more breathing and some mental exercises that reminded Remus of what Muggles would call meditation. He wasn’t entirely sure how it all related, but he trusted Serena.  
   
That night, just before the sun set and the moon rose, she said to Remus, “As you transform, keep thinking the words, ‘I will remember my senses’ over and over to yourself for as long as you can. It doesn’t sound like much, but it primes your mind to focus on the senses even when you’re no longer consciously thinking about them.”  
   
Remus nodded his thanks, then stepped away from Serena to find a spot where he could transform in semi-privacy. The pack were communally minded in almost all things, but the first excruciating minutes of a full moon night were one time when all werewolves sought solitude.  
   
Remus could feel the full moon, hidden just behind the rise of the moor to the east, already tugging at his body and his mind. His bones ached, more with each passing minute, and his thoughts were growing fuzzier, slowing down. It became increasingly hard to form a human thought in those last moments before moonrise, but for as long as possible, Remus continued to repeat inside his head, _I will remember my senses. I will remember my senses._  
   
The moon’s pull was tearing at his body now, every cell frantic in its need to change shape. Bones screamed against skin, muscles ripped themselves apart. From long years of practice, Remus did not cry out. _I will remember my senses_ , he thought one last, desperate time, then his body tore itself to pieces and he knew no more.  
   
– – – – –  
   
Remus came to consciousness lying flat on his back, panting with exertion. In every fibre, he could feel that his body had moments ago painstakingly pieced itself back together, from its smallest parts up to the whole. His limbs ached and his throat was raw, and Remus allowed himself the smallest of groans. Transforming hurt, it would always hurt. But here, in the company of other werewolves, at least he didn’t wake to find that the wolf had spent the night trying to tear its own flesh apart.  
   
_I will remember my senses_. The words drifted sluggishly through Remus’ mind. He opened his eyes to the tree branches above him, where the new green life of spring was unfurling.  
   
He could recall the sound of the others howling, Remus realised. It was not perfectly distinct, but there was more clarity to it than he’d ever retained before. And with that sound memory to latch onto, other snatches of awareness came as well – the warm familiarity of wolfish figures running out ahead of him, the glint of moonlight on silvery fur.  
   
Remus dropped his head back down against the ground, not even having noticed that he’d raised it in astonishment as the memories hit. This was more than he’d ever remembered from a full moon night, brief though the flashes of memory were. So it _was_ possible to learn to remember, extrapolating what he had done from the remembrance of how it had felt. Just as Anna had told him in the beginning, when Remus had been too sceptical to believe. Still nauseous from the transformation, Remus rested his head against the ground and quietly laughed at himself.  
   
When he finally felt able to sit up, Remus looked around for Serena, and saw her across the clearing with Joy in her lap. Finding his legs unsteadily, Remus made his way across to them.  
   
He was hesitant to disturb their peaceful tableau, but Serena smiled when she saw him, so Remus settled gingerly onto the ground next to them. Serena seemed to be quizzing Joy on what she remembered of the night. Joy had her eyes squeezed tightly shut in concentration, and Serena’s hands rested gently on the girl’s head, as if that warm contact might help her remember. Perhaps it did.  
   
“Um, and, and –” Joy was saying, “– and then we weren’t running with everyone, we were running just me and you, and you showed me those yellowy flowery plants –”  
   
“Gorse,” Serena supplied.  
   
“Yeah, and I tried to smell them and it was really _prickly_! And I wanted to try to smell them again, but you kept running moonrise-way.”  
   
“East,” Serena corrected gently.  
   
“Yeah, and then, ooh, then Quiet came and joined us!”  
   
Remus startled. Had he?  
  
“And he played that game with me, what’s it called?”  
   
“Hide and seek.” Serena cast an amused glance at Remus, who stared back at her.  
   
He had played hide and seek with Joy? Did wolves play hide and seek? What had they even hidden behind, on the open moor?  
   
“That’s our Quiet,” Serena added. “Everyone else wants to hunt and race and howl at the moon, but Quiet just wants to be sure our littlest one is having fun.” She shot Remus another look, more intent than the last. Remus swallowed and looked away.  
   
“Would he play with me in human shape, too?” Joy wanted to know, eyes still tightly shut.  
   
“Why don’t you ask him?” Serena suggested. “He’s right here.”  
   
Joy’s eyes popped open and she wriggled around to face Remus. “Hi, Quiet! Will you play hide and seek with me?” As the youngest of the pack, she was the only one who didn’t seem to be feeling any ill effects from having had her body ripped apart and slammed back together at moonrise and again at moonset.  
   
“Gladly,” Remus agreed.  
   
“Right now?” She was already scooting around in Serena’s lap, making to stand up.  
   
Serena rested a staying hand on her shoulder. “Let Quiet rest after the moon, first, Little One. Ask him again this evening, or tomorrow.”  
   
“Okay,” Joy sighed, sounding terribly put-upon. “I don’t know if can _wait_ that long, but I’ll _try_.”  
   
Serena smiled over Joy’s head at Remus. “And you, Quiet? What do you remember?”  
   
“Little more than glimpses,” Remus admitted. “The sound of howling. The way it looked when I was at the back of the pack and everyone else was running out ahead of me. I think I can remember the taste of snow on the air.” He reached over and tapped Joy gently on the nose. “You were right, weren’t you? It did snow in the night.”  
   
“It did!” Joy agreed, her petulance forgotten. “And I caught snowflakes on my tongue, and they tasted like winter solstice, even though it’s already past equinox!”  
   
“And that may well be your last snow of the season, because spring is coming, sure as you can say ‘Beltane’,” Serena told Joy, cuddling her closer for a moment. “Now, how about some breakfast? Since you’re so full of pep, Little One, why don’t you go see if there are any apples left and report back to us?”  
   
“Okay!” Joy leapt from Serena’s lap and landed lightly on her feet. Both Serena and Remus shook their heads at her energy as they watched her scamper away across the clearing.  
   
– – – – –  
   
A Hogsmeade resident reported having seen a window suspiciously ajar at the back of an unoccupied building in the village. Ever vigilant, Tonks went and watched the place for several nights, but she saw nothing out of the usual.  
   
Proudfoot, when she told him about it afterwards, was dismissive. “What did you expect? You can’t follow up on every single supposed lead from people who are panicking, Tonks. You’ve got to pick and choose what’s worth looking into. I know you’re young enough not to believe this yet, but you only have twenty-four hours in a day, just like the rest of us.”  
   
Tonks frowned at him at the time – condescending about her age _and_ about her ability to do her job correctly, great, thanks – but the next day, as she walked along the high street on her patrol rounds, looking nonchalant but always scanning the village for signs of danger, she couldn’t help thinking there was a small way in which Proudfoot was right.  
   
Tonks hated – no, strike that, she _detested_ – hitting up against the limits of how much she could do. It drove her wild to think there was something nefarious going on in Hogsmeade and she couldn’t seem to catch it. The clues kept slipping through her fingers.  
   
But it wouldn’t do any good, either, to obsess over one thread of investigation to the point of neglecting her other duties.  
   
Tonks knew it couldn’t always be dramatic battles with clear winners and losers. Sometimes fighting this war meant plodding on through the day-to-day, in the hope that she was still doing some good, even if it was in less quantifiable ways.  
   
She looked around at the village as she walked. Even in the spring sunshine, Hogsmeade had the look of a place in fearful hiding. Tonks kicked at the cobblestones, even as she kept her wand at the ready and her eyes alert. It ached, seeing so many shuttered houses and subdued shops.  
   
She repeated it in her head like a mantra: _I can’t fix everything. There’s only so much one person can do. But I’m damn well going to do as much as I can._    
   
– – – – –  
   
His new role as liaison between the pack and the Order brought Remus a sudden degree of freedom. Before, his ties to wizardkind had been something to keep circumspectly quiet; now those same connections were an asset. When Order duties or a meeting with Dumbledore occasionally took him away from the pack, none of the werewolves begrudged him the time away.  
   
For the first time in Remus’ life, balancing his werewolf life and his human one didn’t seem such an impossibility.  
   
He was even able to catch up on some of his own research that he’d had to neglect while living away from books and society, now that he had occasional opportunities to borrow and skim a book from Dumbledore before it was time to return to the moor.  
   
One day, with a little free time left before he was expected back at the pack, Remus even got a chance to Apparate to London to visit the Magical Archives there. He’d been wanting to look for any recorded mentions of werewolves that could shed light on how and why Britain’s separate packs had formed. The werewolves’ own historical record was preserved entirely through oral storytelling, which provided valuable insight but didn’t tend to be strong on hard dates. Wizarding records might help, even if most written sources would be filtered through wizards’ prejudiced viewpoint.  
   
Remus Apparated to the back entrance of the outwardly drab office block that housed the Archives. He located the correct window (third from the left), tapped the correct corner (upper right), and the window spun like a pinwheel until it resolved into a door.  
   
Inside, he approached the welcome desk, where a bored young wizard weighed his wand and issued him a small rectangular card reading “Remus Lupin, Visitor: Research,” which Remus fastened to the front of his robes. Then he was free to ride the lift down to the lower level, into the Archives themselves.  
   
He hadn’t been here for several years, but the scent of books and old parchment that rose up to meet Remus’ nose as he stepped off the lift was a familiar one. Oh, it was good to be back among books. He browsed, flipping through volumes and checking footnotes, and eventually determined that the book most likely to be of use was an older volume housed on a level even further down, in the Preservation and Restoration department.  
   
He took the lift again, then wound his way through an open-plan floor crammed with shelves, to the Archivist’s desk at the back of the room. A young woman sat behind the desk, although all Remus could see of her was the top of a blonde head of hair as she bent over a piece of parchment, painstakingly reconstructing it from miniscule fragments.  
   
Hating to disturb her concentration, Remus cleared his throat quietly and said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was told on the main level you might be able to help me find the book I’m looking for.”  
   
The witch behind the desk looked up with a kind smile. “Of course. What’s the title?” Her eyes flicked reflexively to his visitor’s nametag, then seemed to stutter there. She blinked, and returned her eyes to his face with an unreadable expression.  
   
Disconcerted, Remus answered, “Er… _A Most Wonderfulle Account of Travels in the British Wilds_. Here, I’ve written it down.” He held out the slip of paper on which he’d noted the title.  
   
The Archivist glanced at the paper. “Yeah, no problem. Hang on a sec.” She slid from her seat and disappeared into a back room, casting him a last, indecipherable look as she went.  
   
When she returned, she handed Remus the book in question, its faded grey cover soft with age. He took the book from her gently and thumbed through it. Yes, here was the chapter he needed, a naturalist’s account of a year spent tracking the movements of Britain’s – at that time – five werewolf packs. Remus scanned the first few paragraphs, and was wryly gratified to find the tone of the writing only mildly prejudiced.  
   
“Is there any way I could get copies of just these pages, chapter 12?” Remus asked. He looked up to find the witch still staring at him. Had they crossed paths somewhere before? Or did she know him by his unfortunate public reputation, as the werewolf teacher exposed at Hogwarts?  
   
“Er, yeah,” she said, her tone slightly strained. “I can do the charm for that, if you don’t mind waiting a minute or two.”  
   
She took the book back from Remus’ hands, laid out several sheets of parchment next to it, then performed a complex duplication charm. Once the charm was fully invoked and writing was scrawling its way down the parchment sheets, the Archivist looked up at him.  
   
“ _You’re_ Remus Lupin,” she said.  
   
“Yes…?” Remus agreed.  
   
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”  
   
“Er, have you?” Remus asked, still baffled. She was surely too young to have had children at Hogwarts when he’d taught there, but too old to have been a student at the time herself. And Remus wasn’t aware of being notorious for any reason other than that most obvious one.  
   
She fixed him with a stare. “Nymphadora Tonks is my closest friend.”  
   
“Ah,” Remus replied faintly.  
   
“Yeah,” she agreed. She glanced down at the pages of parchment on her desk, checking their progress. “I’m Ariadne Warwick, by the way. Dunno if Tonks has mentioned me.”  
   
All in a rush, Remus recalled a game of Truth or Dare played in a wintery field, one late night when he and Tonks had volunteered to meet some wizards flying in from abroad with a crate of potions supplies for the Order. The stars that night had been so clear, and Tonks’ laughter so bright, as they waited for the delivery and passed the time with a harmless-seeming game that nonetheless had skirted close to perilously personal questions, even in those early days of their friendship. And in talking of her Hogwarts years, Tonks had indeed mentioned Ariadne.  
   
“Yes,” Remus said, not quite trusting his voice to come out even. “She’s mentioned you.”  
   
“And you,” Ariadne said, unnecessarily. She checked on the duplicating documents again, then returned to scrutinising Remus. “I guess you probably won’t be surprised to hear, I was fully prepared to dislike you.”  
   
“Er,” Remus replied, idiotically.  
   
“But you seem frustratingly nice.”  
   
“Do I?” Remus asked, caught off-guard and surprised.  
   
“Yeah,” Ariadne said, frowning. She glanced down at the pages of parchment between them. “Here, look, your copy is ready, and I’m due for my break anyway. Let’s go get coffee.”  
   
“…Okay,” Remus said, and gave himself over to the sensation that this day was only going to keep getting weirder.  
   
Ariadne rolled the copied pages together, tied them neatly with a length of ribbon and handed the resulting scroll to Remus, who tucked it safely into his robes. She returned the book itself to the back room, muttered a safeguarding charm over the document she’d been piecing together when Remus approached her, then led the way out through the stacks to the lift.  
   
“Björn, I’m taking my half-hour break,” Ariadne called as they passed the young wizard by the entrance, the one who had given Remus his visitor’s pass when he’d first come in.  
   
“Yeah, okay,” agreed Björn, hardly looking up.  
   
Ariadne led Remus down a side street and into a tiny Muggle café barely as wide as a standard shopfront. It was cosy inside, with a handful of patrons at the handful of wooden tables squeezed into the small space. The proprietor, a grey-haired woman, stood behind a miniscule counter heaped high with cakes and pastries.  
   
“What would you like?” Ariadne asked Remus, her tone a little gentler than before. “It’s on me. I’m determined to grill you, so the least I can do is buy you a warm drink while I do it.”  
   
Remus ordered tea, watching the proprietor prepare it and finding the ritual of it oddly comforting. Ariadne got a cappuccino, and they found seats at a small table up front near the window. Setting his tea down on the scuffed wooden tabletop and sliding into his chair, Remus wondered what Tonks’ friend had heard about him. Probably nothing good. Then again, probably nothing he didn’t deserve. He met Ariadne’s eyes.  
   
“So, right,” she said, suddenly looking as uncertain as Remus felt. She swirled her spoon in her coffee, rattling it against the sides of the cup. “So, I dragged you here because…I guess I always thought, if I ever met you and got the chance, I would ask, _why_ did you break up with Tonks? Because I have to tell you, it didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense when she tried to explain it.”  
   
“I didn’t –” Remus began to protest, then stopped himself. “No, you’re right. I was the one who took the decision that we shouldn’t – which is to say – yes, I was the one who broke it off.” He paused, to steady himself for this next bit. “Did Dora – did Tonks – tell you what I am?”  
   
Ariadne cast a quick glance around at the Muggles surrounding them, blithely enjoying their lattes and cappuccinos with no idea there was a werewolf in their midst. “Yes, she told me.”  
   
“And that didn’t strike you as reason enough?”  
   
Ariadne frowned down at her coffee, then up at Remus. “Honestly, no. I mean, I won’t pretend I wasn’t shocked when she told me. And by the way, in case you care, it was months before it occurred to her to mention that fact. Not that she was trying to hide it, mind you, it’s just that there were a hundred other things she was so eager to tell about you first. She didn’t see your illness as your defining characteristic, not by a long chalk. You don’t seem to get that if Tonks says it’s not a problem for her, then it’s really not a problem for her. So _what_ , Remus Lupin, is actually the problem?”  
   
Remus steeled himself to answer as honestly as he could. “You know what I am,” he said. “But you don’t know the itinerant, destitute life I’ve led because of my condition. I am shunned by wizarding society; I’m rarely able to hold a job for more than a few months. Those who associate with me risk becoming pariahs as well. And that’s quite aside from the fact that once a month I become a ravening beast and have to lock myself away lest I kill or maim someone. I wouldn’t wish myself on my worst enemy, let alone someone I – care for. But I deluded myself, for a while, into thinking I could have that: a normal life with someone I care about. In deluding myself, I misled Dora, too, and I wish every day that I could go back and take it all back. I wish I’d never hurt her.”  
   
Ariadne’s eyes were wide and bright with sadness. “So you’re really not going to get back together? There’s no chance of it at all?”  
   
Remus’ voice caught in his throat. “No,” he said hoarsely. “It’s for the best.”  
   
Ariadne’s cappuccino sat forgotten, though her fingers rested against the rim of the cup. She studied Remus, staring hard as if she could see all the way through him. “I think one day you’re going to change your mind,” she said slowly. “So all I’m going to say is: If you do, don’t be too proud to admit it, okay? If you find you’ve changed your mind, don’t hide that from Tonks.”  
   
Remus stared back at her, disconcerted at the certainty in her voice. He knew he wasn’t going to change his mind.  
   
Not because he didn’t want to. Because he couldn’t allow it of himself.  
   
Her gaze still steady on him, Ariadne said, “Just…remember that, okay? When you change your mind, don’t hide it.” She held his eyes another moment, then glanced down and remembered her coffee, which she picked up and sipped.  
   
They passed the next few minutes largely in silence. When Ariadne consulted her pocket watch and told Remus she needed to return to work, he followed her out through the maze of tiny café tables. On the pavement outside, they stopped and faced one another.  
   
Ariadne said, “You’ve got the copied pages?”  
  
“Yes. Thank you for that.”  
   
“You’re welcome.” She fiddled with the watch she still held in her hand, then looked up at Remus. “Sorry for giving you the third degree, but – she’s my best friend. I want her to be happy. So – think about what I said, okay?” She bit her lip, then gave him a very small smile before she turned to go. “Take care, Remus.”  
   
“Goodbye,” Remus said, feeling dazed.  
   
Ariadne turned and walked back towards the Archives. Remus set out in the other direction, and made it perhaps a hundred feet down the street before he had to stop and lean against a building. The whole strange encounter was catching up to him, and his knees felt weak.  
   
He rested one shoulder against the building wall and tried to catch his breath, remembering how Ariadne had stared at him and said, _I think one day you’re going to change your mind._  
   
Bizarrely, the thought that popped into Remus’ head was how much Sirius would like Ariadne – seemingly mild at first, then unexpectedly fierce. Very much his type.  
   
And then Remus’ legs did buckle beneath him, because for that one single moment, he’d forgotten Sirius wasn’t here to think anything at all.  
   
Dizzy, Remus turned to press his back fully against the rough brick wall, staring blankly out over the street. He could hear Sirius’ voice clearly in his mind, and that imagined Sirius seemed to say, _I may be dead, but she’s right and you know it._ _It’s not too late to change your mind._  
   
Remus bowed his head, feeling the coarse scrape of the bricks at his back, and closed his eyes, as if shutting out the sight of the world might also block out the voices in his mind. This was not as simple as just doing what he wanted.  
   
Even if he knew exactly what he wanted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I'd like to credit stereolightning for the idea that the full moon starts affecting Remus’ mind, slowing down his thoughts, even before the moon rises and the physical transformation starts. I thought that made an awful lot of sense (especially in explaining the events at the end of PoA!) and have adopted it as my headcanon. 
> 
> Also, Remus' memory that's mentioned here, of the Truth or Dare game late at night in a wintry field, took place in Be the Light in My Lantern, [Chapter 7: "Feeling the Pull."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2255736/chapters/5455826)
> 
> And here, again, is the list of werewolf characters, for your convenient edification!
> 
> the Alpha, a male in his 40s, the pack’s leader  
> Anna, or the Mother, the oldest pack member, symbolic mother of all  
> Brighid, or Fire, the Alpha’s mate, roughly his age  
> Serena, or Trouble, roughly Remus’ age  
> Jack, or Thunderstorm, a little younger than the Alpha, Ashmita’s mate  
> Ashmita, or Rock Crag, Jack’s mate  
> Ronan, or Hardwood, young adult member of the pack, perhaps 20  
> Narun, or Rapids, roughly the same age  
> Adair, or Jump, roughly the same age  
> Tamara, or Blackthorn, roughly the same age  
> Eirwen, or Slither, a young teenager, 13 or 14  
> Joy, or River Run, the pack’s youngest member, 6 or 7


	19. Beltane Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was timing too good to be missed: This chapter takes place around and during Beltane, the Celtic celebration of spring. And out here in the real world, too, TODAY is Beltane. (Well, not in the UK anymore – but here in the US it's still May 1 for another hour or two.) Happy northern hemisphere/pagan/Celtic spring, everyone! I was out celebrating today, as part of a long-standing family tradition, despite the pouring rain.

   
_Secret heart, what are you made of?_  
_What are you so afraid of?_  
   
_–Ron Sexsmith, Secret Heart  
  
_  
Spring sunshine slanted through the trees, dappling the forest floor with light. High overhead, unseen among the many blossoming branches, birds trilled out fervent melodies, as if their tiny hearts might burst with the joy of springtime if they didn’t release some of that feeling through song.  
   
Half a year ago, even a month ago, Tonks could never have predicted she would be patrolling the woods outside Hogsmeade on a bright spring afternoon – with Remus at her side.  
   
She’d invited him along on her patrol as a way for them to meet in their role as liaisons while she was on duty, but somehow she’d failed to consider that this meant she was letting herself in for an entire afternoon of strolling side by side with Remus through the blossoming beauty of the springtime woods, trying to stay matter-of-fact and professional when Remus was right there, within arm’s reach.  
   
“Now that the ground’s thawed, the pack will be breaking down the winter shelter. Right after Beltane,” Remus was saying.  
   
There was something different in his bearing, after all this time with the werewolf pack. In every other respect he was still very much as she remembered – same wry voice, same warm, intelligent gaze – but there was a quiet confidence in the way Remus held himself these days. It suited him.  
   
But it was so hard, so horrendously difficult, to walk along next to Remus and listen to the sound of the voice she’d missed so much all these months, and yet keep reminding herself not to want this too much. He was a colleague with whom she met periodically for an hour or two of discussion, that was all. She couldn’t, mustn’t allow herself to think of this as anything more than that.   
   
Because if Tonks let herself save up thoughts and stories and amusing anecdotes in her mind, looking forward to each next time she would get to share all those things with Remus and watch an answering smile spread across his face, it only ever meant she would be destroyed once again each time he left.  
   
If only Remus wouldn’t look at her with blazing longing, in little moments when he thought she didn’t see.  
   
Like now: Tonks glanced away, peering through the woods towards a cluster of oak trees that stood a little more closely together than the rest, mentally assessing them for any signs of hidden danger, and she turned back to find Remus’ eyes on her. His gaze stuttered away the moment she looked, but too late – the desire in his gaze hit her like a Stunner spell.  
   
_Why_ did he look at her like that, and then insist he wanted nothing more than her friendship? What kind of stupidly iron control did this man possess?  
   
Remus cleared his throat. “And you?”  
   
“What?” Tonks gasped, startled.  
   
“What’s the news from Hogsmeade? Is there anything I should know?”  
   
Right. They were here to exchange news, not confidences. It was all business between them these days – just how Remus claimed to want it.  
   
So Tonks told him about things in the village, and about a recent – but successfully deflected – Dementor attack. Remus grimaced in sympathy at that. As someone who’d made a study of magical beasts and Dark creatures, Remus understood well what Tonks faced every time her Aurorlog blared, summoning her to battle another horde of Dementors.  
   
Tonks held her wand in hand as they walked, easy but alert. The year’s first snowdrops dotted the ground with delicate white blossoms. The oak and birch leaves overhead were vibrantly green and new. Tonks had never appreciated a spring so much as she did now, after living through a long, drab, lonely Hogsmeade winter.  
   
And here was Remus, right here beside her, and the woods were bursting with spring, and they were talking about nothing but Death Eaters and Dementors.  
   
The terrible sadness of it finally led Tonks to dare more. “How are you?” she asked, turning to Remus. “Really, I mean.” A breeze dipped and darted around them, fluttering strands of Tonks’ hair across her eyes. “You’ve convinced me you’re not in physical danger, living with the pack, and that’s good. It’s really good. But are you – are you happy?”  
   
Remus looked down at the ground, then up at the sky. Finally, he looked at Tonks. “I wouldn’t say I’m unhappy,” he said.  
   
Tonks pressed her lips together to hold back a laugh, despite herself. What a very Remus answer. “Please tell me that’s not Remus-code for ‘I’m miserable but too polite to say so.’”  
   
Remus chuckled softly. He ducked down to look under a clump of bushes, but evidently came up satisfied that nothing darker than leaves and shadows lurked there. “No, no. I’m content. I enjoy living among my fellows, among other werewolves. I’ve learned an enormous amount I never even knew I needed to learn.”  
   
_Could you ever be content to live here again, among us non-werewolves?_ Tonks wondered. _Are you ever coming back?_ But she carefully didn’t ask it. If Remus never returned to wizarding society, Tonks knew she couldn’t blame him. He had suffered so much at the hands of witches and wizards.  
   
“But I miss –” Remus’ voice caught. “I do miss many things.”  
   
For a moment it seemed he would say more, but then he swallowed the rest of whatever that thought had been.  
   
Feeling suddenly reckless, Tonks burst out, “Feelings don’t just disappear when they’re not convenient anymore! You can’t Vanish them away. They – they’re still there, even when you try to tell yourself they shouldn’t be.”  
   
And now of course it was terribly obvious that she was talking about her own feelings, not just his. She chanced a glance over at Remus, then quickly looked away again. The sorrow in his face was too terrible. In the sudden silence between them, Tonks could hear every twig that cracked beneath their feet.  
   
“Dora – I –” Remus swallowed audibly, then started again. “I can’t give you what you deserve. I wish so much that I could.”  
   
“I don’t care about any of that! All I want –”  
   
“Dora. _Please_.” There was such anguish in his voice that Tonks couldn’t bring herself to push any further.  
   
The ground they walked dipped into a small glen, where the forest floor was dotted with the green shoots of wildflowers pushing up out of the soil. Tonks’ throat felt raw, and every part of her ached to throw herself at Remus and tell him how she felt. Shake him hard enough that he might finally understand. But she clenched her hands at her sides and managed, barely, to hold herself back.  
   
At long last, Remus spoke, keeping his voice painfully even. It must hurt, Tonks thought desperately. The effort to strip all emotion from his voice like that, it must hurt.  
   
“I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy,” he said, very quietly. “I wish there were something I could do to make it so.”  
   
Tonks wanted so badly to tell him how simple it could be. _Just let go. Let me love you_. But saying it again and again only tortured both of them, so she didn’t say it. Her eyes stung, but she didn’t say it.  
   
It was absurd that it could be such a beautiful spring day and her heart could hurt this much, as she walked on in silence through the dappled woods with Remus.  
   
– – – – –  
   
On Beltane Eve, Remus watched Ashmita and Jack assembling with great care the pile of wood that would become a bonfire. Joy ran about underfoot, strewing the camp with armfuls of yellow flowers Eirwen and Ronan had helped her pick, hawthorn and gorse and kingcup.  
   
The winter lean-to still stood, but they would dismantle it as soon as the Beltane festivities were over. Beltane marked the coming of the warm season. Where Samhain was the dying of the year, Beltane was its rebirth.  
   
Remus had wondered what to expect of this bawdiest of seasonal holidays. He’d researched all of this long ago, and he knew Beltane was a fertility festival, a celebration of light and life and new growth returning to the world. Some celebrations could get quite…wild. His own pack didn’t seem the sort to let loose completely, but Beltane could bring out unpredictability in even the most staid of individuals.  
   
As evening drew near, Remus was surprised to see Jack – Thunderstorm – working to start the fire using a crude hand drill made of a wooden spindle and a bit of board with a notch cut into it, rather than the usual flint.  
   
Anna, the Mother, saw Remus watching curiously, and waved him over to her. He came and knelt respectfully beside her, where she sat on a tree stump outside the lean-to.  
   
“On Beltane Eve, we do everything by hand, young City Wolf,” she said. The use of that old nickname didn’t rankle as it once had done. “That’s what makes this fire sacred. This is the fire that renews and cleanses us after such a long time enclosed in the darkness of winter. This fire will bless and protect us as the world turns again towards its bright morning.” A teasing note crept into her voice as she added, “I will tend the fire overnight, so you young ones can have your fun.”  
   
Remus supressed a startled jerk of alarm. Just what sort of fun was she expecting him to get into?  
   
Jack had worked up a spark now, and he transferred it deftly to a small pile of tinder and bark, where Ashmita helped him fan it into a flame. The flames caught and rose higher, as the sun sank behind the hills of the moor.  
   
Once the sun had disappeared, the pack gathered around the bonfire and Brighid passed around warm wine and oatcakes. She poured a small measure of her drink onto the ground, then began to crumble her oatcake and scatter the pieces into the evening breeze, murmuring with each bit she broke off, “May this piece protect my loved ones… May this piece keep my foes at bay…”  
   
The others did the same, scattering crumbs and whispering their own benedictions of protection.  
   
Now Remus understood, too, why this bonfire hadn’t been built as high as the fires they’d had for other seasonal celebrations: because the next ritual required each adult member of the pack to take a great leap through the air over the fire’s purifying flames.  
   
Aged Anna was exempt from this, and merely held her hands above the fire. Joy sulked when Serena told her she was too young, and Eirwen blushed with pleasure when the Alpha deemed her old enough to take part.  
   
One by one, they squared up to the fire, tensed their muscles, and leapt.  
   
When Remus’ turn came, he didn’t leave himself time to think, simply pushed off from the ground and leapt as high as he could, shouting in delight at the rush of heat and adrenalin as the flames blurred beneath his feet, and then he was over, safely on the other side.  
   
They were all laughing now, in accomplishment and easy camaraderie. The Alpha cupped his hands above the fire, catching eddies of smoke and wafting them towards each of the pack members in turn, until he had blessed each of them with the protective powers of the fire. They settled down comfortably around the bonfire and Brighid passed the jug of wine again. Remus felt it warming his belly and weighing down his limbs, pleasant sensations after so many months of cold and want. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the fire, feeling the thrum of wine in his veins.  
   
When Remus opened his eyes, he saw the pack had dispersed while he was wool-gathering. Brighid and the Alpha had disappeared together, as well as Jack and Ashmita. No surprises there; those were long-established couples.  
   
Remus had worried how the spirit of Beltane Night might catch Ronan and Eirwen, who were increasingly close friends but surely a little young yet for Beltane’s more libidinous pleasures. But he saw the two of them simply sitting by the fire, heads bent close together as they chatted quietly. Joy rested sleepily against Anna’s knee, as the Mother stroked her hand over the fine plaits that lined Joy’s head.  
   
During the passing of the wine flask, Remus had settled on the ground with his back against a log, in the shadows beyond the fire’s ring of light. Now he turned to see Serena sitting beside him.  
   
Meeting her gaze, Remus knew how this night was meant to unfold. He was the newest adult in the pack, she an unpartnered adult. It would have been a reasonable match regardless, and all the better seeing that they got on well and considered one another friends. Remus knew Serena appreciated the kindness he showed her adoptive daughter. And there was no question that he liked and respected Serena and her no-nonsense brand of warmth. She was attractive, clever, and had been nothing but kind to him. As a potential partner, she made perfect sense.  
   
Except that Remus’ heart lay elsewhere.  
   
Remus himself could have made his peace with a partnership based on convenience and mutual appreciation, rather than love. In truth, such a partnership would be more than he had ever dared to hope for himself. But he would not ask that of Serena. She deserved a partner whose heart was hers.  
   
Her eyes on him were warm and gentle, and Remus had to look away.  
   
“I –” He cleared his throat and tried again. The words came out sounding scratchy and rough. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I know it’s Beltane, and it’s supposed to be – I know it’s – but I can’t.”  
   
“Quiet,” Serena said softly. “Remus.”  
   
He looked at her, surprised. She had never before used his human name.  
   
“You don’t need to explain,” Serena said gently. “If it’s not what you want, that’s answer enough.”  
   
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. Would he ever stop making choices that left him endlessly apologising to the people he cared about?  
   
“Don’t be sorry,” she said, her voice firm. “Are we friends?”  
   
“Yes,” Remus said. “Of course.”  
   
“Good.” She reached out her hand, and Remus took it. “It’s Beltane,” Serena said. “The world is new. There’s so much to be thankful for.”  
   
Remus nodded, his throat tight. He thought of Harry, still alive and fierce and strong, despite everything. He thought of Tonks, mercifully safe, or as close to safe as a terrifyingly brave Auror could ever be, going about her life and work in Hogsmeade. Truly, Remus had almost everything he could wish for.  
   
He squeezed Serena’s hand gratefully, and her answering smile was a wistful flicker in the darkness. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and they sat together long into the night, watching the fire dance.  
   
– – – – –  
   
Remus woke with a crick in his neck, and the weight of Joy’s head balanced precariously against his knee. He’d fallen asleep with his back against the log, Serena’s hand still in his.  
   
He opened his eyes to see Anna bending down and scooping up ashes from the fire that had nearly guttered out, only a few wisps of wan smoke still rising from the faded grey embers.  
   
As Remus watched, Anna poured careful handfuls of ash into little woven-grass pouches he recognised as a project that had occupied Serena in recent days. He’d seen her weaving the pouches and attaching them to thin loops of grass twisted into cords. Now Remus finally understood their purpose, as he watched Eirwen, one of the first to wake, wander up to Anna, yawning. The woman looped one of the necklaces over the girl’s head, tucking the pouch beneath her clothing and murmuring words of blessing. Eirwen bowed her head in thanks.  
   
Next to Remus, Serena stirred and mumbled. He glanced over and saw her blinking herself awake. Her hand in his squeezed once, gently, and let go.  
   
Anna approached them now, bearing three of the woven grass pouches, which she deposited in Serena’s outstretched palm. Anna rested a gentle hand on Serena’s head for a moment as Serena murmured her thanks, then Anna continued on to rouse Ronan, who had also fallen asleep by the fire and was snoring with a soft whistling sound.  
   
Serena turned to Remus, holding out one of the pouches to him. “For protection,” she said, though he had guessed this already. “Wear it until it falls off of its own accord.”  
   
Nodding his thanks, Remus took the pouch, and Serena turned her attention to slipping one over Joy’s head and another over her own. Remus examined the small pouch in his hand. Its smell was both sweet and sharp, the green scent of grass mixed with the rough odour of wood smoke. He slipped the cord over his head and settled the pouch under his shirt where it rested lightly, its texture against his skin unfamiliar but not unpleasant.  
   
The morning passed in the lazy doze of a hangover, although none of them had drunk all that much wine the night before. The two adult couples who had absconded in the night wandered back into camp, and no one blushed or seemed ashamed. Remus found it a refreshing change from the attitudes of much of human society.  
   
They dismantled the lean-to piece by piece over the course of the afternoon, working together to pry out nails and stack boards into neat piles. Everything that could be reused, Jack explained to Remus, would be wrapped in a canvas tarp and stowed out of the way until the next winter. No reason to waste anything that could be used again.  
   
Remus saw the Alpha watching him consideringly, during the day, so he wasn’t surprised when the Alpha called him aside late in the afternoon.  
   
“I’d like you to take one or two of the pack into the city with you for a day,” the Alpha said. Then, frowning, he amended, “The village. Hogsmeade, where your wizarding school is. I would like them to see the city through your eyes. I had thought of Thunderstorm and Trouble as the two who might go with you, but you may suggest others instead if you wish.”  
  
  
Thunderstorm and Trouble – Jack and Serena. Two pack members Remus considered friends, and trusted not to grow angry or defensive when confronted with all the things that were so inherently different about wizarding life. “Your suggestion is eminently suitable, Alpha,” he said. “I would be happy to show Hogsmeade to Thunderstorm and Trouble.”  
   
The Alpha nodded. “Good. Arrange it with your friends in the city.”  
   
– – – – –  
   
Tonks paced, her feet describing tight loops on the pavement in front of the Three Broomsticks, oblivious to the warmth of the sun and the scent of spring blossoms wafting on the gentle breeze.  
   
Remus was coming, today, with two other werewolves from the pack. What would they look like, how would they act, what would they say? What might _she_ accidentally say and offend them, out of her own ignorance?  
   
Remus generally turned up in threadbare clothes that bore the signs of hard living, with several days’ stubble or more, but he clearly took pains to look as presentable as was possible under the circumstances. And he still spoke like, well, like Remus. But werewolves who’d lived most of their lives away from society – how did they talk? What would conversation with them be like?  
   
Tonks made another tight pivot on the pavement and saw them before they saw her: Remus, walking up the high street, with a man on one side of him and a woman on the other.  
   
The man was big and broad-shouldered, with tanned skin, dark hair and a thick beard. For a moment Tonks wondered if this was the Alpha. He had the right look for it, powerful and self-assured. But no, surely the Alpha had better things to do than play tourist in a wizarding town. This would be another member of the pack.  
   
The woman was of average height, dark-skinned with neatly curling black hair. She had, Tonks thought, a kind-looking face, though she couldn’t have said exactly what made her think that. Both of them dressed as Remus did, in simple, practical clothing, much of which looked homemade. Their appearance was not so out of the ordinary, though, that they would stand out oddly in the streets of Hogsmeade. Which had been another of Tonks’ worries, that they would draw stares, which would be understandably unpleasant for them, which could wreck this whole attempt at establishing normal relations before it had even started.  
   
She took a deep, steadying breath, and breathed out slowly.  
   
Remus spotted Tonks and picked up his pace. When he and the others reached her, they stopped abruptly, and all four of them stood there on the pavement, looking at each other.  
   
“Wotcher,” Tonks said.  
   
Remus blinked a few times, like he was trying to find his feet in the oddness of this situation. “Dora, this is –” he faltered, and glanced at the other two in turn.  
   
“Human names are fine,” the woman said, which struck Tonks as a rather cryptic comment, but Remus seemed to understand. He nodded.  
   
“This is Serena, and this is Jack,” Remus said. The big man chuckled, as if he found the sound of their names amusing. “And this is Nymphadora Tonks, but everyone calls her Tonks.”  
   
“Nice to meet you,” the woman – Serena – said. She reached out and shook Tonks’ hand. The gesture was perfectly polite, but it felt somehow unpractised, like she hadn’t shaken hands in years and was drawing on old memories to remember how to do so. The man, Jack, glanced at the woman as if taking his cues from her about this strange human custom, and he shook Tonks’ hand as well.  
   
“Nice to meet you, too,” Tonks said. There was another off-kilter pause, but Tonks reminded herself firmly to get it together and behave like a professional. She gave them a big smile. “So – I’m happy to show you around, but I don’t know what you’d like to see, exactly. Just, walk around and see the town?”  
   
She looked to Remus and he stepped in smoothly. “Yes, that’s the idea,” he said. “I thought we could have a look around the town, and I can share some of my own memories from my schooldays here. And perhaps you could tell us a bit about Hogsmeade, too, since you’re living here right now?”  
   
“Yes, of course,” Tonks said, glad to have been handed a straightforward opening topic. She launched into an overview of Hogsmeade life and history as the four of them started along the high street.  
   
It wasn’t too awkward, once they got going. They were able to walk four abreast, aside from occasionally having to weave past the displays that were set out on the pavement in front of some of the shops. Tonks told anecdotes about the village, and from time to time Remus added his own comments, the flow of conversation between the two of them as uncomplicated as ever. Tonks had the sense that the other two were at least as interested in observing the dynamic between her and Remus as they were in the sights and sounds of the village. The werewolf and the human, as friends: a case study.  
   
“Zonko’s Joke Shop,” Remus explained, when they stopped in front of the shop. “My friends and I spent more time here than almost anywhere else, on the days when they let us visit the village from school. We were terrible pranksters.”  
   
“You, a prankster?” the woman, Serena, asked. “Sorry, Quiet, but I can’t picture it!”  
   
Remus chuckled. “And _you_ at some point earned yourself the name ‘Trouble,’ and I can’t picture that either.”  
   
“Point taken,” she agreed with a smile.  
   
There were swaths of backstory here, Tonks was forcefully reminded, common ground between the members of the pack that she wasn’t privy to. These were people Remus had lived with at close quarters for months now, depending on one another for their survival. There was so much she didn’t know.  
   
Seeming to sense the direction of her thoughts, Remus turned to Tonks and smiled, that gentle smile of his that had been making her knees go weak for as long as she’d known him. “I’ve told you how everyone in the pack has another name besides their human name, right? Mine is ‘Quiet,’ for obvious reasons.”  
   
His eyes sparkled, and Tonks understood the gift he was giving her: The pack knew one side of him, the quiet, fair-minded, serious side, the side that was the only one Remus ever let most people see. But Tonks had been allowed to see another side of him, the hidden Marauder who still delighted in boyish jokes and wry wit, a man she could easily picture exploring secret passageways and inventing spells as a boy, and who had – as he’d once admitted to her, half rueful and half pleased – helped his friends sneak into the Slytherin dormitories, steal the other boys’ underpants and hang them up in the Great Hall using Sticking Spells so strong, it had taken the combined efforts of several Hogwarts professors nearly an entire school day to undo them.  
   
The werewolf pack knew some parts of Remus, but he had trusted Tonks with so much more.  
   
“Yes, quietest man I’ve ever known,” Tonks managed, and she gave Remus a cautious smile as they continued on their way.  
   
They walked on through the village, Remus chatting easily, sharing anecdotes from his schooldays, clearly eager to present Hogwarts in a positive light. Tonks knew how deeply he wished for this bridging of the two cultures, for it to one day be possible that all werewolf children might get the chance to receive a Hogwarts education, as Remus had done, and live a life as equals among wizards. He steered them clear of the Shrieking Shack, and she didn’t blame him. He had few happy memories there.  
   
They fetched up again in front of the Three Broomsticks and Tonks suggested, “How about a drink?” Then she added hurriedly, “It’s on me.” She didn’t know if the other two werewolves even used money, and Remus was always sparing with the little gold he had. She suspected Dumbledore had convinced him to accept a small allowance for exactly these sorts of situations, when his work for the Order required him to meet with contacts over a drink or a meal. But knowing Remus, the allowance he’d been willing to accept would be small indeed.  
   
“Sure,” said Serena, glancing at the door of Three Broomsticks with curiosity. “Can’t remember the last time I was in a proper pub.”  
   
Tonks bit back all the questions she wanted to ask – How old Serena had been when she was bitten? How much did she remember of wizarding life? Instead, she nodded politely and led the way inside.  
   
Once they’d sorted out a table and chairs for themselves, Tonks went to the bar to order: Jack wanted whisky; Serena seemed nostalgic for butterbeer, though she hadn’t quite come right out and said so; and Remus, unnecessarily abstemious as usual, had simply asked for tea. Tonks had rolled her eyes fondly at him, then turned away and shut down that feeling as quickly as she could, because letting herself feel even the least bit fond only meant she would feel his absence all the more achingly when he left again.  
   
Rosmerta seemed distracted as she took Tonks’ order, though that probably had to do with a large party of out-of-town wizards taking up one whole corner of the pub and calling out loudly for drinks. Rosmerta looked wan, as she always did these days.  
   
Tonks returned to the table with their drinks, and found Remus and the other two chatting comfortably. It still surprised her to see him like this, so at ease with the others. She’d been wrong about the dangers of living with werewolves, or at least with these particular werewolves, and she was glad to have been proved wrong. Remus’ mission no longer seemed so dangerous and mad.  
   
“Drinks!” Tonks said cheerfully, sliding the four glasses onto the table, pleased with herself when she managed to spill not even a drop of any of them. She distributed the glasses and cups around, then slid into her own seat, between Serena and Jack and across from Remus.  
   
Wanting to encourage the atmosphere of camaraderie they’d built up over the course of the afternoon, silently hoping she wasn’t pushing it too far, Tonks said, “All right. Tell me the most ridiculous thing ‘Quiet’ has done in his time living with you.”  
   
Then she held her breath, hoping she’d judged the mood of the group right. To her relief, Serena burst out laughing and launched into a complicated story about something Remus had done in his wolf form – and that was a whole other complicated topic, because here was someone who’d experienced Remus in his transformed state and could tell stories about it, in a way Tonks would never be able to do.  
   
Not something she should get lost in thinking about right now, though.  
   
Jack went on to describe a spot on the moor where Remus liked to wander, the place that had earned him his nickname of ‘Quiet,’ and the conversation continued smoothly on from there.  
   
When she’d drained the last of her butterbeer, Serena looked over at Tonks and said, “I’d like to see the school, Hogwarts. Would that be possible?”  
   
Tonks blinked. “Yes. Of course. We won’t be able to go inside the grounds, because security’s really tight right now, but we can have a look at it from outside. It’s a bit of a walk from the village, but if you don’t mind…”  
   
“I don’t mind,” Serena said. “Thunderstorm?”  
   
That seemed to mean Jack. He shrugged. “Sure. Alpha doesn’t expect us back until evening, anyway.”  
   
“All right,” Remus said. Tonks glanced at him and tried to parse the complicated emotions that flitted across his face in the wake of Serena’s request. “Dora, you don’t mind?”  
   
“I don’t mind,” Tonks said.  
   
So the four of them walked the road from the village to the castle. They stopped in front of the stone gates with their winged boars, and gazed up at the school. Seeing it through visitors’ eyes, Tonks appreciated anew what an impressive sight Hogwarts made. And if Serena and Jack could see the castle, then they clearly had magical ability, despite not practising wand magic, so that was another question answered.  
   
Jack seemed indifferent, but Serena gazed up at the castle for a long time. Tonks glanced at Remus and wondered what he was thinking. She knew he considered Hogwarts one of the only homes he’d ever had.  
   
“All right,” Serena said finally. “I’ve seen it. That’s good enough.” She seemed sad, or maybe just wistful, in a way Tonks couldn’t quantify. Serena glanced over at Jack, then at Remus. “We should get back.”  
   
Jack glanced up at the sky. He was telling the time by the position of the sun, Tonks realised. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anyone do that. “Agreed,” he said.  
   
They both looked at Remus. He would have had to Side-Along Apparate them here, Tonks knew, since they didn’t use wands. And that meant they were dependent on Remus to bring them back home, as well. She sucked in a quiet breath as she appreciated what a level of trust in him that implied.  
   
Tonks turned to Remus, and found him looking at her gravely. “Thank you, Dora,” he said. “I know how busy you are with work. I appreciate that you took this time to meet us.”  
   
“My pleasure,” she said, then turned to Serena and Jack. “Seriously, it was great to meet you. And you’re welcome here any time. We’re not all –” She hesitated, not sure how candidly she should speak. “We’re not all prejudiced. Not all wizards think all that horrible stuff that the people who make the laws would have us believe.”  
   
A small smile quirked at one side of Serena’s mouth, a hint of a hidden, warm emotion. “Yes,” she said. “I can see that. Thank you.”  
   
Both of them, Serena and Jack, shook her hand again, then Tonks turned to Remus, her heart in her throat. Shaking hands would be too strangely formal. Anything more than that would be too much. But doing nothing at all would look strange in front of the others.  
   
His expression still grave, Remus said, “Happy birthday, in case I don’t see you before then. I hope it’s a good one.”  
   
Tonks blinked. She’d hardly thought about it, but yes, her birthday was coming in a few days’ time. And now she was thinking of last year, cosily gathered in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place with her parents and Remus and Sirius –  
   
She forced that memory aside.  
   
“Thanks,” she said, trying to keep her tone cheerful. The others didn’t need to know how sad it made Tonks to think of spending this birthday without both of them, Remus and Sirius.  
   
Remus’ eyes flicked to Tonks’ drab, unhappy brown hair for the barest moment, before returning to her face. “Be well, Dora. I’ll see you soon.”  
   
“Yes,” she said, her throat tight. “See you soon.” Remus took out his wand, and the other two each put a hand on one of his arms. As he raised his wand, Remus’ eyes met Tonks’ with such a depth of emotion that she reeled.  
   
And then they were gone.  
   
– – – – –  
  
“Well,” Remus said, trying to sound light-hearted. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”  
   
His heart was still pounding. Every time he saw Tonks he thought it would surely get a little easier, but that was never true. Any time she was present, Remus could barely tear his eyes away.  
   
But the success of this friendship-making mission was more important than his personal feelings, so he tried to hide his reeling heart away. He stowed his wand safely beneath a rock, and the three of them started towards camp, he and Serena and Jack.  
   
Serena cast him a sidelong look.  
   
But Jack only said, shrugging easily, “Yeah, not bad. Wouldn’t want to live there all the time, though. Too many buildings.”  
   
Remus had to stop himself from laughing out loud. In all his years of experience with Hogsmeade, that was one way he would never have thought to describe the village: as too urban.  
   
“Your friend was very kind,” Serena said. “Alpha is right. It’s good to go and have a look for ourselves, and see that not all witches and wizards are like we imagine them to be.”  
   
They reached the pack in time for dinner, and shared stories of the day around the cooking fire with the rest of the pack. Joy, of course, wanted to hear every detail.  
   
It wasn’t until late in the evening that Serena caught Remus alone. He was sitting on his piece of canvas, inexpertly trying to repair a damaged bow and arrow Jack had pressed into his hands. Jack seemed to think it good practice for Remus to attempt these tasks, even if the results were rarely impressive. Serena dropped down beside him.  
   
“Mother told me once,” she said, “that she believes you left a mate behind in the city when you came here. Someone you still love.”  
   
Remus fumbled, the bow slipping from his hand. He hurriedly picked it up again.  
   
“I think I met her today,” Serena said softly. “Am I right?”  
   
He could, if he chose, refuse to answer her. It was a highly personal question, and Remus would be well within his rights if he refused to answer, even here in this pack that shared everything.  
   
But he was so tired of refusing.  
   
“Yes,” Remus said, keeping his eyes cast down at the bow in his hands.  
   
“What made you leave her?” Serena asked quietly.  
   
“I am a werewolf,” he said. The same refrain, the same inescapable excuse for everything that was broken in Remus’ life, the same excuse he’d been repeating for nearly as long as he’d been alive. “I’ve learned to live with the indignities that entails, when living in human society. But I wouldn’t wish all that trouble on someone who is unbroken and whole.”  
   
“I have to say, it didn’t seem like she would mind.”  
   
“No,” Remus agreed. “That has never been in doubt. Dora is extraordinary that way. But I won’t impose the difficulties of my life on her. I couldn’t do that to someone I – love. So I decided it would be better to remove myself. I’ve only ever wanted to keep her safe,” he added, his voice stuttering into emotion on that last word.  
   
“Oh, Quiet,” Serena said. “And have you made her any safer or happier by breaking her heart?”  
   
“No,” Remus said, pushing the word past the constriction in his throat. “No, I don’t think so.”  
   
“Life is precarious,” Serena said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Every werewolf knows that. Each winter could be our last. Better to have joy today, than to refuse it out of fear for what might happen tomorrow.”  
   
Remus shook his head, trying to shake away Serena’s words. She didn’t understand. She meant well, but it wasn’t as simple as she made it sound.  
   
Yet he lay awake a long time that night, thinking about what Serena had said. Yes, Remus wished he could have the joy of being together with Tonks. And far more than he wanted it for himself, he wanted Tonks to have that joy. In rejecting the love she offered him, he’d been trying to spare her hardship, but instead he’d hurt her terribly.  
   
More and more, the long-lost voices that lived in Remus – Sirius, James and Lily, his mother, his father – all seemed to be converging in his heart to tell him the same thing that Serena had said: that love was worth even this risk.  
   
And yet the question remained, forever the same question: He himself was willing to take that risk, and dare to love. But did he dare inflict himself, a dangerous Dark creature, on the woman he loved?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many notes! The "stealing the Slytherins' underpants" anecdote is from my Remus/Marauders story "[In the Wrong House](http://archiveofourown.org/works/630195/chapters/1139534)". And the mention of Tonks' birthday the previous year, that's in "Be the Light in My Lantern," chapter 16: "[The Calm Before the Storm](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2255736/chapters/6289958)."
> 
> So many fic writers have inspired me and expanded my understanding about these characters and what they might be thinking during various parts of their story; for this chapter in particular, I'd like to mention gilpin25 and her story "[Soft Falling Rain](http://gilpin25.livejournal.com/80076.html)." Especially the line, _“If time has made anything clearer, it’s that he hasn’t spared her anything. Perhaps he really is ridiculous, as Molly frequently told him.”_
> 
> As always, yup, all the werewolves' Beltane practices here are drawn from both my own experiences and my research. And here again is the werewolf character list:
> 
> the Alpha, a male in his 40s, the pack’s leader  
> Anna, or the Mother, the oldest pack member, symbolic mother of all  
> Brighid, or Fire, the Alpha’s mate, roughly his age  
> Serena, or Trouble, roughly Remus’ age  
> Jack, or Thunderstorm, a little younger than the Alpha, Ashmita’s mate  
> Ashmita, or Rock Crag, Jack’s mate  
> Ronan, or Hardwood, young adult member of the pack, perhaps 20  
> Narun, or Rapids, roughly the same age  
> Adair, or Jump, roughly the same age  
> Tamara, or Blackthorn, roughly the same age  
> Eirwen, or Slither, a young teenager, 13 or 14  
> Joy, or River Run, the pack’s youngest member, 6 or 7
> 
> ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
> 
> Folks, we're nearly to the end of this story! I can't quite believe it. Just three chapters still to go. I will do my best to stick to the one-chapter-a-week posting, but things may occasionally fall a little out of that rhythm, because I have some last edits still to make to these final chapters, and I'm also traveling a bit in May. But we're nearly there! Coming up next, a _very_ iconic Remus/Tonks scene. ;-)


	20. Making a Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting; these are crucial chapters to the story, and I needed a bit more time to be as sure as possible that I have everything how I want it...
> 
> At long last, we've reached that famous scene! As always, anything you recognise is from the books and belongs to J. K. Rowling.
> 
> Thanks for reading along this far, dear readers. It's been quite a journey for me, the many-years-long writing, revising and re-revising of this story, and it's a joy to share it with you!

 

 _Nothing in the world prepared me for your heart_  
   
_–Mark Knopfler, Golden Heart_

 

“You will be in charge of patrolling the school corridors,” Professor McGonagall said. “Members of the staff are watching the passageways into Hogwarts, there are protective spells on all entrances, and no one can fly into the grounds. But nonetheless we would do well to stay alert while Dumbledore is away. Send a Patronus to me if you find anything amiss.”  
   
It made Tonks feel rather reminiscently like a misbehaving pupil, to be standing in front of McGonagall’s desk, taking orders. It was new, though, to be standing there with Bill and Remus on either side of her.  
   
Remus. Dumbledore had requested Remus’ presence to help patrol the castle tonight, even though Dumbledore generally tried not to take Remus away from the pack too often. It was also unusual that he’d asked Tonks here, since her duties generally lay in the village. It gave Tonks an uneasy feeling. What dangers was Dumbledore expecting might arise during this “routine” patrol on a mild June night?  
   
Their instructions duly received, Tonks and Remus and Bill all nodded their understanding to McGonagall, then filed out of her office.  
   
“Right,” Bill said, once they were in the corridor. He’d performed patrol duty at Hogwarts a number of times over the course of the year, and knew how this should go. “How about, I’ll take the upper floors; Tonks, you take the middle; and Remus, cover the basements. Yeah?”  
   
“Sure,” Tonks said, carefully avoiding looking at Remus. It never got any easier, being this near to Remus and yet having to hold herself back from saying how she felt.  
   
Bill pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it. “All right. Let’s all head out, and check back here an hour from now.”  
   
So the three of them parted ways, each to their respective parts of the castle. They walked the corridors and checked empty classrooms, alert for the slightest sign of anything out of the ordinary, but all was quiet. All was well.  
   
Until it wasn’t.  
   
Tonks, Bill and Remus had met for one of their hourly check-ins, walking together and taking a few moments to discuss what they’d seen so far, before separating again to their assigned sections of the castle, when Ron, Ginny and Neville Longbottom appeared at the far end of the corridor and dashed madly towards them.  
   
The kids were wild-eyed and panting with exertion, all of them talking frantically over one another. Their voices came out as a desperate avalanche and it was impossible to make out a word of it.  
   
“Okay, stop!” Tonks said. “ _One_ person talk. Ginny.”  
   
Ginny took a deep breath, then launched into a summary. “Harry knew all along that Draco Malfoy was up to something, and just before he had to leave with Dumbledore, he figured out that Draco had made some kind of breakthrough.”  
   
_Harry’s with Dumbledore tonight?_ Tonks wondered, surprised. McGonagall hadn’t mentioned that.  
   
“So we kept watch outside the Room of Requirement, where Draco was,” Ginny continued. “But when he came out, he blinded us with Instant Darkness Powder. And he’s let a bunch of people into Hogwarts through the Room of Requirement, somehow. We heard them passing by us in the darkness. _Death Eaters_ ,” she emphasised, as if they might not have caught the significance of this. She gave Tonks a pleading look, like she already despaired of being taken seriously by an adult with the power to do something about it.  
   
“Which way did they go?” Tonks asked, and Ginny’s eyes widened in grateful disbelief.  
   
Ron broke in. “Up to the Astronomy Tower, we think.”  
   
“Let’s go,” Tonks said. She glanced at Remus and Bill, and they both nodded. All three of them took off at a run, wands out, the three kids right behind them. As they approached the corridor that led to the Astronomy Tower stairs, Tonks could hear voices ahead.  
   
They rounded the corner and burst onto a nightmare scene: Draco Malfoy standing there in the middle of the corridor looking pale and frantic, surrounded by a host of Death Eaters.  
   
Draco went wide-eyed with panic when he saw them coming, members of the Order of the Phoenix.  
   
“ _Stupefy_!” Tonks shouted, pointing her wand at the nearest Death Eater, a big blonde man. He dodged, and the rest of the Death Eaters scattered. One man – Gibbon, Tonks knew from the Ministry files she’d memorised on suspected Death Eaters – broke away and made a dash for the Astronomy Tower stairs.  
   
“Follow them!” Tonks shouted to the others, even as she was casting a Patronus to summon McGonagall to help. Tonks thought she saw Remus touch one hand lightly to something that hung around his neck on a woven cord, then he was past her and duelling one of the Death Eaters.  
   
Tonks took up a duel too, with the big blonde man. She’d placed him, now, and knew who he was: Thorfinn Rowle, a big brute of a man, but not someone previously suspected of Death Eater involvement. _Great, new recruits_ , she thought grimly, as she got in a Leg-Locker Curse on him, though he was able to counteract it quickly. _Well, the pleasure’s all mine, Mr Rowle._  
   
“ _Crucio_!” Rowle growled, but Tonks blocked the spell. “ _Reducto_! _Confringo_! _Incendio_!” His curses seemed to spew out of him unpredictable and uncontrolled. It was hard work just to keep up with his haphazard volley of spells that followed no particular logic.  
   
As the movements of the duel drew Tonks in a circle around her opponent, she saw the green flare of a Killing Curse miss Remus by inches. It hit the Death Eater Gibbon instead, who’d just come running back down the steps from the Astronomy Tower, and he crumpled to the floor. One minute Gibbon was running full tilt, and the next he was on the ground, dead. Tonks determinedly _did not think_ about how easily that could have been Remus instead.  
   
Everything around her was shouting, noise, chaos, battle. Then a streak of matted grey hair and tattered clothing blurred past the edge of Tonks’ vision, and with horror she recognised Fenrir Greyback. She felt ice-cold terror clutching at her, because if Greyback was here for Remus –  
   
But it wasn’t Remus that Greyback was charging towards, it was Bill. Bill slammed to the ground from the force of the impact, and now Greyback was scratching and biting Bill, who lay helplessly pinned beneath him, and Tonks couldn’t do a thing to help, because the whole time she was fending off deadly attacks from her own opponent. All she could do was hope desperately that Bill would be able to fend off Greyback.  
   
The Death Eaters were ferocious and they outnumbered the Order, even with the three kids – who should _not_ be here in this battle at all – fighting too. Bill was on the floor and Neville seemed to be limping, but that was all the impression Tonks was able to gather of the battle as a whole, through the chaos and lights of curses criss-crossing through the dim, enclosed space of the corridor.  
   
Draco had disappeared, as far as Tonks could see as she kept up a stream of curses and counter-curses at Rowle. Where had he gone – had he run from the battle? Or had Draco, too, run up to the top of the Astronomy Tower?  
   
Suddenly, four Death Eaters broke away from the fighting and ran in precisely that direction, towards the stairs and up to the tower, one of them blocking the way behind them with a curse Tonks didn’t recognise. Neville tried to run after them, but an invisible barrier flung him back and he landed on the floor, winded.  
   
Seizing on a sliver of inattention from her opponent, Tonks ran to Neville and picked him up off the floor, making sure he could stand on his own. Then she threw her own weight against the invisible barrier, flung against it every spell she could think of, but nothing worked. What were the Death Eaters doing up there?  
   
But at the same time Tonks was wondering about this, massive Thorfinn Rowle was still firing curses in every direction, and several of them just barely missed Ginny and Ron, who were still valiantly duelling other Death Eaters. Tonks rushed to intercept Rowle again, before he could hurt one of the kids.  
   
Then, thank Merlin, reinforcements arrived: McGonagall, leading members of the Hogwarts staff. Finally, the two sides of the battle were evenly matched.  
   
“They’ve blocked the stairs!” Tonks yelled to McGonagall. Aiming again at the barrier, she shouted one more time, “ _Reducto! REDUCTO!”_ But her spells still bounced uselessly off the invisible barrier. McGonagall nodded to show she understood, as she too raised her wand and plunged into the fray of the battle.  
   
Then Snape was there, and then he was gone again, rushing through the cursed barrier as if it were nothing but air. Tonks saw Remus plunge after Snape through the melee, but the barrier threw him back just as it had done Neville. Remus didn’t spare a second, just picked himself up off the floor and rejoined the fight.  
   
Tonks spun at the sound of a massive rumbling behind her, and turned in time to see an entire section of the ceiling crumble to the floor in massive chunks – Rowle, with his complete lack of sense, had hit the stone ceiling with a jinx and now it was all coming down in great pieces. Tonks grabbed the injured Neville and yanked him out of the way of the heavy falling rocks.  
   
Remus was the first to notice that the collapse of the ceiling had also broken the invisible barrier that blocked the stairs. He sprinted that way, McGonagall and several others right behind him, but they stopped abruptly at the sight of Snape, descending the stairs at a run. Snape was dragging Draco with him, the boy ghostly white but apparently unharmed. Hot on their heels came two of the Death Eaters – the awful Carrow sister and brother – as well as Greyback, who snarled and plunged back into the fight.  
   
Then, out of nowhere, Harry was there. But if Harry was here – where was Dumbledore?  
   
Snape shouted something, but Tonks couldn’t hear it over the noise of the battle. Everything was a nightmare of dark and dust, falling rocks and the sizzling light of spells. Rowle continued to attack wildly, and fending him off took all Tonks’ strength and concentration.  
   
At the edge of her vision, Tonks saw Greyback lunge at Harry and knock him to the floor. Those horrible, sharp, yellow teeth aimed unerringly for Harry’s throat, and Tonks cried out in horror –  
   
Beside her, Remus’ voice, brimming with a wrath she’d never heard from him before, bellowed, “ _Petrificus Totalis_!”  
   
Greyback slumped on top of Harry, insensible.  
   
Tonks had just enough time to see Harry push Greyback off of himself and stand up, uninjured, before her attention was yanked back to Rowle, whose uncontrollable curses first cracked the stone wall behind her, then shattered a window.  
   
Remus, McGonagall, Ginny and Ron were all battling Death Eaters, too. Neville was on the floor, but sitting up. Bill lay in a pool of blood, horribly still, but there was no time to let herself think about that right now, not when there were children in this fight.  
   
Tonks saw Harry get in a well-aimed _Impedimenta_ at the Carrow brother, who was duelling Ginny. The force of Harry’s jinx slammed the Death Eater into a wall.  
   
Ginny called out, “Harry, where did you come from?” but already Harry was gone again, sprinting through the chaos, dodging curses and blasts of light that exploded above his head.  
   
McGonagall shouted something that sounded like “Take that!” and Tonks saw the Carrows fleeing away down the corridor. Harry had tripped over Neville in his dash through the fighting, but he still managed to aim a hex accurately at Rowle, who shouted in pain, then wheeled and pounded away after the Carrows, Harry chasing after them.  
   
“Harry!” Tonks shouted, because whatever Harry was planning to run off and do by himself, it couldn’t possibly be a good idea.  
   
Remus and McGonagall called after him too, but Harry was gone.  
   
And then, very suddenly, the battle was a flame that had flickered out. The Death Eaters were retreating – not defeated, but simply no longer interested in battle. In the space of the time it took Tonks to catch her breath, all of them were gone. Even Greyback was gone. He must have been revived by one of the Death Eaters before they fled, because he was no longer anywhere to be seen.  
   
Tonks cursed in anger. How she had longed to arrest that man, for Remus’ sake.  
   
She scanned the room a last time to be sure there was no danger, then ran to Remus, who was kneeling beside Bill and feeling for a pulse. “He’s breathing,” Remus said at last, raising his eyes to meet Tonks’. She saw relief painfully etched in his face.  
   
“Oh, thank Merlin,” McGonagall gasped, appearing at Remus’ shoulder. She helped him turn Bill over, so he was no longer face down in the blood that smeared the floor. Meanwhile, Ron was helping Neville to stand. Ginny disappeared down the corridor, seeking Harry.  
   
“Everyone to the hospital wing,” McGonagall decreed. Her face was scratched and her robes ripped, and her hair was white with dust from the ceiling, loosed from its tight bun and floating around her face.  
   
McGonagall cast a spell that lifted Bill up until he was floating in front of her. She glanced down at the dead Death Eater, Gibbon, the one who’d been hit by a killing curse cast by the uncontrollable Thorfinn Rowle. For a flicker of a moment, McGonagall looked uncertain. Then she said with determination, “It wouldn’t do for students to come along and see him,” and levitated him up as well.  
   
They made a strange procession through the corridors of the school, McGonagall levitating Bill and the Death Eater’s body in front of her, Ron helping a barely conscious Neville to walk. Tonks and Remus took up the rear of the group, not looking at each other. Determinedly not looking at each other.  
   
_You nearly died_ , Tonks thought, and the intensity of feeling that came with that fact was all the more frantic now that the danger itself was past. _That killing curse was aimed at_ _you_. _Bill could have been killed tonight. Or Harry, or any of us. So what in Merlin’s name are we doing, trying not to feel what we feel?_  
   
Her whole body thrummed with an awareness of death, and of the narrowness of their brush with it. Her skin was electric with the knowledge of Remus’ human warmth there beside her.  
   
Madam Pomfrey met them at the door of the hospital wing and bustled Bill and Neville immediately into beds. McGonagall disappeared behind a curtain at the back of the wing, to lay the Death Eater’s body there, and Tonks decided she would just have to not think about that for now, the fact that there was a dead Death Eater here in the room with them.  
   
Already waiting in the hospital wing were Hermione – and Luna Lovegood. The girl who befriended Thestrals. Hermione was bouncing anxiously, rocking from heel to toe, but Luna simply gazed at all of them from her big, luminous eyes.  
   
“Oh, Professor!” Hermione cried, when McGonagall re-emerged from the behind the curtain. “I’m so sorry, Professor McGonagall, we were supposed to be watching Snape, I think he attacked Flitwick, but we didn’t realise –”  
   
“Flitwick?” McGonagall asked sharply. “What’s happened to Flitwick?”  
   
“He was here, and he’s fine,” Madam Pomfrey cut in, in her no-nonsense way, already bending over Bill’s bed. “He was knocked out and is still a bit shaky on his feet, but he’s gone to look after the students of his house. Nothing to fret about.”  
   
“I must notify Molly and Arthur of Bill’s injuries,” McGonagall said. Her voice was steely with the emotion she was holding back. She strode across the hospital wing and out the door, shutting it firmly behind her.  
   
Madam Pomfrey straightened up from Bill’s bed, her eyes sweeping the room until they landed on Remus. “Here,” she said, reaching into the voluminous pockets of her Healer’s apron. “Healing and sleeping potions. Administer them to the injured boy.”  
   
Remus hurried to Madam Pomfrey and she deposited several vials in his hands. It struck Tonks forcefully, in that moment of efficient, almost wordless coordination between the two of them, that this was the woman who had cared for Remus through seven years of full moon nights. Madam Pomfrey knew better than almost anyone that she could depend on Remus’ capable mind and hands. And she surely knew, too, how it must affect him to see someone else attacked by a werewolf.  
   
Remus went to Neville, as Madam Pomfrey returned the entirety of her redoubtable focus to Bill.  
   
The kids, too, drifted towards Bill’s bed at the far end of the ward – Ron, Hermione and Luna. With a last glance back at Remus, Tonks followed them.  
   
Bill looked horrible. It was only as Madam Pomfrey cleaned away the blood that they could see just how gruesome his injuries were. His face was so badly torn up, Tonks wasn’t sure she would have recognised him. Pomfrey, unfazed, dabbed at his wounds with a potent concoction of Dittany and astringent-smelling herbs, muttering healing charms as her hands moved deftly over Bill’s injured body.  
   
A noise behind them, at the door, drew Tonks’ attention. She turned and saw Harry and Ginny stepping into the hospital wing, framed in the wide doorway. Harry’s face was strangely blank, and Ginny was clutching his hand in hers.  
   
– – – – –  
   
Remus looked up from Neville’s bed to see Harry in the hospital wing doorway, Ginny by his side. Harry’s eyes were wide and shocked, and there was something terribly blank in his stare. Remus’ heart plummeted, even as Hermione flew past him, running to the door and throwing her arms around Harry, where he stood there blinking, his face stoic and strange.  
   
Remus set aside the now-empty potion vials he had administered to Neville and followed in Hermione’s wake, asking urgently, “Are you all right, Harry?”  
   
“I’m fine…how’s Bill?” Harry asked with effort. Without waiting for an answer, he crossed the room to Bill’s bed. Horror bloomed across Harry’s face as he took in the sight of Bill’s injuries. “Can’t you fix them with a charm or something?”  
   
This last was addressed to Madam Pomfrey, who glanced up, her hands still busily applying ointment to Bill’s wounds. Her gaze at Harry was kindly, but when she spoke her voice was as matter-of-fact as ever. “No charm will work on these. I’ve tried everything I know, but there is no cure for werewolf bites.”  
   
“But he wasn’t bitten at the full moon,” Ron protested, staring down at his brother’s face. “Greyback hadn’t transformed, so surely Bill won’t be a – a real –?” And he looked up, distraught, straight at Remus.  
   
Remus carefully set aside all his own emotions. He braced his palms against the sides of his legs, steadying himself, and focused on being only the teacher, the calm and strong adult, the one who could be here to help a boy who needed reassurance. “No, I don’t think that Bill will be a true werewolf,” he told Ron, “but that does not mean that there won’t be some contamination. Those are cursed wounds. They are unlikely ever to heal fully and – and Bill might have some wolfish characteristics from now on.”  
   
“Dumbledore might know something that’d work, though,” Ron plunged on, his eyes darting feverishly around the room. “Where is he? Bill fought those maniacs on Dumbledore’s orders, Dumbledore owes him, he can’t leave him in this state –”  
   
Ginny let out a small, pained sound.  
   
“Ron,” she said. “Dumbledore’s dead.”  
   
“No!” It escaped Remus’ lips without his control, as the shock of Ginny’ words slammed into him. He looked wildly between Ginny and Harry, desperate to hear either one of them take those words back. But Ginny’s lips were pressed tightly together in grief, and Harry still just stared and stared. Remus stumbled, then dropped into a chair by Bill’s bed, his face landing in the cradle of his own hands. Dumbledore couldn’t be – no – no –  
   
He heard Tonks’ voice nearby, a pained whisper. “How did he die? How did it happen?”  
   
Harry told them the story, his voice still strange with shock. He told of returning to Hogsmeade with a weakened Dumbledore, seeing the Dark Mark above the Astronomy Tower. Then of Harry Petrified, Draco terrified – and Snape bursting in.  
   
Snape. Whom they had allowed to pass at will through the melee of the battle, believing him to be one of their own.  
   
Into the horrified silence, unflappable Madam Pomfrey burst into tears.  
   
“Shh! Listen!” Ginny whispered. Somewhere outside, somewhere high in the air above the Hogwarts grounds, Dumbledore’s phoenix Fawkes was singing an unearthly lament.  
   
Everyone in the hospital wing went still as the phoenix’s song washed over them, soothing their shock. For those few precious moments, it didn’t have to be real yet. Dumbledore was not yet gone, for these few moments suspended between the minutes and hours of the normal world. Remus, with his head still in his hands, let himself float in the cradle of the phoenix’s comforting lament.  
   
Then the hospital wing door opened, breaking the spell of the song, and McGonagall came in, looking weary and battle-worn. She glanced to Neville, sleeping peacefully in his bed near the door, then crossed the room to Bill’s bed.  
   
“Molly and Arthur are on their way,” she said. “Harry, what happened? According to Hagrid you were with Professor Dumbledore when he – when it happened. He says Professor Snape was involved in some –”  
   
“Snape killed Dumbledore,” Harry said, and his words hit the quiet room like a shock wave, reverberating into stunned silence.  
   
“Snape,” McGonagall repeated, dazed, dropping into a chair Madam Pomfrey quickly Conjured for her. “We all wondered… but he trusted… always… _Snape_ … I can’t believe it…”  
   
“Snape was a highly accomplished Occlumens. We always knew that.” Remus’ voice sounded strange to his own ears, harsh and full of pain. He had trusted Snape. He had been so determined not to perpetuate against Snape the same prejudiced mistrust he himself had so often endured from others.  
   
“But Dumbledore swore he was on our side!” he heard Tonks whisper. “I always thought Dumbledore must know something about Snape that we didn’t…”  
   
“He always hinted that he had an iron-clad reason for trusting Snape.” McGonagall’s voice was thick with emotion. “I mean… with Snape’s history… of course people were bound to wonder… but Dumbledore told me explicitly that Snape’s repentance was absolutely genuine… wouldn’t hear a word against him!”  
   
“I’d love to know what Snape told him to convince him,” Tonks growled.  
   
“I know.” Harry’s voice rang out, and there was the anger, now, punching through the shock of his grief. He stood there looking defiantly around at them, even as he wore his heartbreak on his face. “Snape passed Voldemort the information that made Voldemort hunt down my mum and dad. Then Snape told Dumbledore he hadn’t realised what he was doing, he was really sorry he’d done it, sorry that they were dead.” Harry’s voice twisted sharply downwards into bitterness.  
   
“And Dumbledore believed that?” Remus demanded. He still felt pinned in his chair, as if his body were no longer capable of moving. “Dumbledore believed Snape was sorry James was dead? Snape _hated_ James…”  
   
“And he didn’t think my mother was worth a damn, either, because she was Muggle-born,” Harry said, his voice curdling with hatred. “‘Mudblood,’ he called her…”  
   
“This is all my fault,” McGonagall exclaimed. And she began a tortured summation of all the ways in which she felt she should have prevented this night from happening.  
   
Pulling himself together with great effort, Remus said, “It isn’t your fault, Minerva. We all wanted more help, we were glad to think Snape was on his way…”  
   
Again, horribly, Remus remembered Snape dashing through the thick of the battle and up the Astronomy Tower stairs, and none of them had thought to question what he intended to do there.  
   
Then bit by bit all of them there in the hospital wing began to relate the night’s events, each filling in their own pieces of what had happened, and where and when, until the picture was more or less complete. Outside the windows, Fawkes’ lament continued to reverberate over the dark school grounds.  
   
Then there was a commotion at the door, and Molly, Arthur and Fleur burst into the room. McGonagall leapt from her seat and went to meet them, saying, “Molly – Arthur – I am so sorry –”  
   
“Bill, oh, _Bill_!” Molly gasped, rushing to his bedside.  
   
Remus jumped up to make space for them, leaving his seat and stepping away from the bed. He could feel Tonks near to his side, a warm presence radiating grief and strength.  
   
Molly bent and pressed kisses to Bill’s mangled face, as Arthur spoke distractedly to McGonagall: “You said Greyback attacked him? But he hadn’t transformed? So what does that mean? What will happen to Bill?”  
   
“We don’t yet know,” McGonagall said helplessly, and she, too, looked to Remus, as if he could provide the answers.  
   
“There will probably be some contamination, Arthur,” Remus said gently. “It is an odd case, possibly unique… we don’t know what his behaviour might be like when he wakes up…”  
   
Meanwhile, Molly had eyes for nothing but Bill. She’d taken the ointment from Madam Pomfrey and begun applying it to Bill’s wounds herself.  
   
“And Dumbledore?” Arthur asked, his hands tugging distractedly at his own thinning hair. “Minerva, is it true… is he really…?”  
   
McGonagall nodded tightly.  
   
“Dumbledore gone,” Arthur breathed, disbelieving.  
   
Still gazing down into Bill’s damaged face, Molly began to sob, her words growing mangled as her crying became wilder. “Of course, it doesn’t matter how he looks… it’s not r – really important… but he was a very handsome little b – boy… always very handsome… and he was g – going to be married!”  
   
A silvery-blonde Gallic explosion erupted at her side. “And what do you mean by zat?” Fleur demanded, all the force of her redoubtable personality coming to bear on this moment. “What do you mean, ‘e was _going_ to be married?”  
   
Molly raised her tear-drenched face, her sobs startled into silence. “Well – only that –”  
   
“You theenk Bill will not wish to marry me any more? You theenk, because of these bites, he will not love me?”  
   
“No, that’s not what I –”  
   
“Because ‘e will!” Fleur exclaimed, her voice loud enough to rouse all but the most deeply sedated of hospital patients. “It would take more zan a werewolf to stop Bill loving me!”  
   
“Well, yes, I’m sure, but I thought perhaps – given how – how he –” Molly fumbled, staring in bafflement at her future daughter-in-law.  
   
“You thought I would not weesh to marry him? Or per’aps, you ‘oped?” Fleur cried, unstoppable now. “What do I care how ‘e looks? I am good-looking enough for both of us, I theenk! All these scars show is zat my husband is brave! And I shall do that!” She snatched the ointment from Molly’s nerveless fingers and turned her fierce concentration to her fiancé’s wounds.  
   
_It would take more than a werewolf to stop him loving me_ , she’d said _._ Remus stared, stricken, as Fleur tenderly dabbed Bill’s face.  
   
Molly, her voice gone very soft and strange, said, “Our Great Auntie Muriel has a very beautiful tiara – goblin-made – which I am sure I could persuade her to lend you for the wedding. She is very fond of Bill, you know, and it would look lovely with your hair.”  
   
“Thank you, I’m sure zat will be lovely,” said Fleur, still stiff and angry.  
   
And then, in less than the time it took to think it, something shifted between them, subtly but profoundly, like the movement of a tectonic plate deep beneath the surface of the Earth. And all at once Molly and Fleur had their arms around each other, both still in the grip of high emotion, but united now, and Remus couldn’t look away.  
   
_It would take more than a werewolf to stop him loving me._  
   
“You see!” Tonks cried. She was closer even than Remus had realised, less than an arm’s length away from him, so close he could feel the heat of her body. And hear the pain in her voice. “She still wants to marry him, even though he’s been bitten! She doesn’t care!”  
   
Panic spiked through Remus, because he knew he was crumbling. If he so much as looked at Tonks he would crumble in his resolve, and he couldn’t let himself do that, could he? _Could he?_  
   
“It’s different,” he gasped, fixing his gaze on the scene in front of them, desperate not to let himself turn and look at Tonks, because if he let himself so much as look at her… “Bill will not be a full werewolf,” he choked out. “The cases are completely –”  
   
Remus stumbled backwards, and only once he was already in motion did he understand that the force moving him was Tonks, who’d grabbed him and was shaking him by the front of his robes. “But I don’t care either, I don’t care!” she cried. “I’ve told you a million times –”  
   
Remus kept his eyes frantically fixed on the floor, looking anywhere but at Tonks. “And I’ve told _you_ a million times that I am too old for you, too poor… too dangerous…”  
   
From somewhere far outside this small, complete world that was the two of them, joined together where Tonks’ hands clutched Remus’ robes, he heard Molly say gently, “I’ve said all along you’re taking a ridiculous line on this, Remus.”  
   
“I am not being ridiculous,” Remus said, and his voice was steady now, because this was the thing he was sure of, the one thing he knew would always be true. “Tonks deserves somebody young and whole.”  
   
Tonks was still clinging to his robes, and Remus clung just as hard to the sight of the floor beneath their feet, those clean-scrubbed wooden boards faded from so many years of being trodden upon by students and hospital wing matrons alike. This room right here, the Hogwarts hospital wing, was where Remus had woken torn and bruised after every full moon of his school career, to be patched painfully back together by Madam Pomfrey.  
   
Tonks deserved so much more than a life like that.  
   
Somewhere behind him, very softly, Remus heard Arthur say, “But she wants you. And after all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so.”  
   
Meaning Bill, of course. Bill, who had been young and handsome and whole mere hours before, and now might be disfigured or worse for life. And no one here thought Fleur shouldn’t love him because of it.  
   
Remus felt himself shiver beneath Tonks’ hands.  
   
“This is… not the moment to discuss it. Dumbledore is dead…” Remus’ voice rasped on that last word, but still he managed, barely, to keep his eyes directed at the floor. Tonks’ hands were warm against his chest, even through the layers of his robes, the warmest thing Remus could remember feeling in a very long time. He wanted more than anything to sink forward into that warmth, and stay and stay and _stay_.  
   
“Dumbledore would have been happier than anybody to think that there was a little more love in the world,” Professor McGonagall said, her voice sharp, nearly a reprimand, and Remus couldn’t help it any longer, his eyes skittered, unbidden, up from the floor to meet Tonks’ fierce gaze –   
   
The hospital wing doors burst open and the moment shattered.  
   
Hagrid squeezed in through the doorway, telling McGonagall that he had moved Dumbledore’s body, the students were back in bed, and Slughorn had informed the Ministry – but Remus, reeling, barely heard him at all. He’d seen such extraordinary depth of feeling, in that moment when he’d looked into Tonks’ eyes.  
   
In the babble of conversation that ensued, amongst Hagrid and the others, Tonks quietly stepped away from Remus and released her grip on his robes. But some unseen thread still joined them, and even as the conversation around them moved on, Remus was hyperaware at every moment of exactly where in the room Tonks was.  
   
Hagrid left to gather the heads of the houses, and McGonagall departed, taking Harry with her. The mood in the room shifted too, the urgent tenor of a war room session dissipating.  
   
Professor McGonagall, Remus thought dazedly, who was now headmistress of Hogwarts. Because Dumbledore was dead.  
   
“They’ll be talking about closing the school,” Remus said to no one in particular, his voice coming from somewhere hollow inside him. “Scrimgeour will want it. The heads of house are likely to say the same.”  
   
Molly sniffled, leaning against Arthur, close by Bill’s bedside. Fleur sat clasping Bill’s hand. Ron and Ginny, Hermione and Luna stood in a tight huddle nearby. And Fawkes was still singing his achingly beautiful lament.  
   
“There’s nothing any of us can do but get some rest,” Madam Pomfrey said firmly. “ _Especially_ my patients. They need quiet to rest and recover. And you, children, should be in bed.” Ginny made a noise of protest at that, but Madam Pomfrey was already shepherding them towards the door.  
   
Watching the kids leave, Remus was painfully aware of Tonks beside him. He was terrified to turn and look at her. What might he do if he let himself look, and see the depth of feeling in her eyes?  
   
But the tableau that Molly and Arthur and Fleur formed around Bill’s bed was heart-breaking, and they shouldn’t intrude on the family in this private moment of grief. It was time that Remus and Tonks should go.  
   
Remus looked up again and met Tonks’ eyes.  
   
“Dora,” he whispered.  
   
Sweaty and dirty and covered in dust from the ceiling that had collapsed in the battle, her hair lank and brown and dotted with flecks of plaster, her eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion, Tonks was as beautiful as the day Remus had first laid eyes on her, kicking her heels against the legs of a kitchen chair under a shock of irreverent pink hair, at her first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.  
   
“Dora,” he said again.  
   
Her eyes met his, unwavering as always. “Remus.”  
   
They didn’t need to speak a word to fall into step together. Side by side, they started towards the hospital wing doors, away from the quiet scene around Bill’s bed. Remus opened the door to the corridor, and Tonks closed it behind them once they had passed through.  
   
Her hand still resting on the doorknob, Tonks turned to look at Remus. In the dimness of the corridor, he couldn’t read her expression. Strange elation was rising within him, although he hadn’t the least idea what would come next. Remus had never in his life been less sure of that.  
   
All he knew was that there was so much to say, and he wanted to start saying it, tonight, right now.  
   
He looked at Tonks and asked, “Is there somewhere we can talk?”  
   
– – – – –  
   
Tonks looked at Remus. His robes were ripped at the shoulder and there was dust in his hair. He moved like a man who’d been in battle and no longer felt young, and his quietly lined face was tired. But he was _here_ , that was the extraordinary thing. Tonks had lost the self-control she’d been trying so hard to hold onto, she’d burst out with exactly the kind of messy emotions Remus usually ran from – but Remus wasn’t running.  
   
“Come to my flat,” Tonks said, because there was a painfully bright spark of hope igniting in her chest now, making her want to dare to try again. “Come to my flat and we can talk there.”  
   
They walked side by side down the stairs and along the corridors to the main entrance, exhausted and quiet, but calm in each other’s presence. Tonks wondered if Scrimgeour and his Ministry delegation had arrived yet to meet McGonagall, and what they were saying now.  
   
She would find out soon enough. For this one night, work could wait.  
   
Tonks pushed open the big oak doors, and she and Remus stepped out into the night. A cool breeze fluttered over her face, a welcome relief after the grit and sweat of the battle. Still side by side, they walked through the chill night air, down to the school gates in the dark. Midnight had passed a long time ago, sometime in the thick of the fighting.  
   
Tonks cast the counterspells to open the enchantments that sealed the gates, wondering how many of these spells would need to be strengthened or re-cast now that Dumbledore was gone. It was a good thing, as it turned out, that Dumbledore had had the whole staff cast protective charms on the castle, instead of doing everything himself as he easily could have done. Then again, that had probably been deliberate on Dumbledore’s part, yet another precaution taken with his usual eerie perspicacity. Tonks shivered.  
   
Remus’ voice came, warm and low, from the darkness beside her. “Shall we walk?”  
   
Tonks nodded in the dark, though she wasn’t sure if he could see her. They could Apparate instead, of course, but right then Tonks needed the cool air on her skin and the quiet of the wooded path. She sealed the gates behind them and they started along the path to Hogsmeade, walking in silence, close beside each other though not quite touching. It felt like a vigil, this quiet walk through the darkness, a silent remembrance of the leader and mentor they’d both lost tonight. Exhausted beyond belief, Tonks had reached a place of strange calm.  
   
They arrived in the sleeping village and made their way through the darkened streets. When they reached the Twilfit and Tattings building where Tonks had her flat, she led the way up the narrow stairs to her little attic, both of their feet scuffing softly on the worn wooden steps. Everything about this night was already so surreal that suddenly having Remus here, at her Hogsmeade home, felt strangely matter-of-fact.  
   
Tonks undid the protective charms on the door and pushed it open. She ushered Remus inside, locked and charmed the door behind them, and with a wave of her wand lit the little lamp beside the door.  
   
The flat was woefully untidy. Clothes were strewn all over the furniture, items dropped wherever Tonks had abandoned them that morning in the usual chaos of dressing and leaving the flat. But she didn’t care about that, not in the face of everything else.  
   
Not with Remus here.  
   
When she turned to him again, Remus was staring at Tonks with such fierce tenderness that for a moment it actually took her breath away.  
   
“Dora,” he said again, the way he’d said it in the hospital wing, with so many layers of meaning in the word. The lamplight cast his face in warm angles and shadows, and Tonks had to fight against a desire to pull him to her and kiss him breathless. It would be such a relief to hold Remus again, such a relief to melt against him and pretend, even just for a night, that nothing else in the world existed. But that would not solve any of their problems.  
   
“Come sit,” she said instead, and led him to the loveseat. Yes, the same one where she’d made that disastrous attempt at snogging someone else, anyone who wasn’t Remus.  
   
And now here Remus was.  
   
The strangeness of this whole day hit Tonks all at once, the sheer number of impossible-seeming things that had happened in the space of a single day. She had already put in a full day’s work in Hogsmeade before starting guard duty at the school. Then patrolling the halls, running into the kids with their panicked news of intruders in the castle, then battle, Bill’s injury, Dumbledore’s death…  
   
And now Remus was here in her flat, and that felt even more impossible than all the rest. Tonks could have laughed from the confusion of it all, if she weren’t so exhausted. Every bone in her body ached from battle and loss.  
   
And yet – Remus was here. That could make up for almost anything.  
   
Tonks dropped down onto one side of the sofa and Remus settled himself politely at its other end. He turned so he was facing Tonks, with one knee bent flat on the sofa in front of him, then he cleared his throat a little awkwardly and lifted his eyes to hers.  
   
“You know,” Remus said gravely, “lately all I seem to hear is Sirius’ voice in my head, telling me I’ve been a damn fool.”  
   
Now Tonks did laugh, helpless and overwhelmed and pushed so far beyond any normal reaction that she had no choice but to give in to it, clutching her sides and gasping for breath until finally the hysterical laughter sputtered away into a last few hiccoughs. Remus watched her, patiently waiting out her laughing fit, but with his eyebrows lifted in mild alarm.  
   
When Tonks finally had herself under control, she said, “Sorry, wait, you _what_?”  
   
Remus was still giving her that quietly alarmed, eyebrows-raised look, so Tonks coughed a little, cleared her throat and said, “Sorry. Right, all okay now. But _what_ did you just say?”  
   
Remus’ eyebrows lowered at last, furrowing in thought. “It seems as if all the time I’ve got Sirius’ voice in my head, telling me that I’ve been wrong. And not only Sirius. So many people, people whose wisdom I trust, have been telling me it’s worth the risk.”  
   
“What’s worth the risk?” Tonks asked, breath catching in her throat.  
   
Remus slid one hand across the small stretch of knobbly green love seat cushion that lay between them, and rested it there, palm up. Hesitantly, Tonks reached out her own hand, too, until it met his. Remus’ fingers against hers were cool, and roughened with the manual labour of his many months of outdoor living. He gripped her hand in his.  
   
“This,” he said.  
   
Tonks looked down at their joined hands, framed by the green surface of the loveseat. Her heart beat wildly, but her brain seemed to have frozen. All she could do was stare at the sight of Remus’ hand in hers.  
   
“I only wanted to protect you from hurt,” Remus said, so softly, his voice little more than a whisper. “I haven’t done a very good job of that, have I?”  
   
The hysterical laughter threatened to overflow again, but Tonks fought it down. “Yeah, not so much, no.”  
   
“I’m so sorry,” Remus said, and Tonks could hear in his voice that he really was. But Remus was _always_ sorry when things went wrong, and it still didn’t stop those things from happening. What reason was there to think that this, right now, would be any different?  
   
You’re the last person I would ever want to hurt,” he said. “That was so far from my intention. And I’m sorry.”  
   
Tonks nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Remus was quiet too, his hand still holding hers.  
   
At last he said, his voice low and hoarse, “The things I said before, at Hogwarts tonight, they’re still true. Those are facts I can’t change. I am a werewolf. I will never again be young and whole; I haven’t been that for a long time. I will never cease to worry that I might harm you, however unintentionally. I do what I can to minimise the risks, but even so, it may never be enough.”  
   
Remus turned fully towards her, his eyes earnest in the lamplight. There was still a smudge of dust on his cheek from the battle, and he looked grave and exhausted.  
   
Quietly, he said, “But I’m ready to try. I can’t promise more than that. But I can promise to try.”  
   
That right there – _that_ was what was different. The Remus of a year ago had been afraid even to make a promise, for fear he wouldn’t be able to keep it.  
   
A promise wasn’t assurance that everything would turn out all right. _No_ one could know that for certain. But something in Remus’ year away had changed him, to the point that he dared to give it his best shot.  
   
“So,” Remus continued hoarsely. “If you still mean what you said tonight in the hospital wing –”  
   
“I _do_ ,” Tonks said.  
   
“If you still feel that way, and you want to try…”  
   
Tonks could still feel, vividly, how it had felt to throw herself at Remus, unable to hold back for another moment – even there in front of everyone, even though the timing of it was all wrong, amidst all that death and destruction.  
   
Or maybe the timing was exactly right, because the one thing this terrible night had shown her for certain was how fragile they all were, how close within death’s grasp, on any given day. And if that was true, then what could possibly matter more than telling each other what they felt?  
   
“Yes,” she said. “I meant what I said. And yes, I want to try.”  
   
The joy that blossomed across Remus’ tired face was beautiful.  
   
But he said soberly, “It’s not a lot, what I can offer you. You know my reservations about myself as a partner.”  
   
“I know,” Tonks said. “You’ve told me them over and over. And I’ve told you just as many times that I don’t mind. Are you going to be able to hear and believe me when I say that I don’t mind?”  
   
Tonks looked at Remus, and she saw that the fear was still there in his eyes. Maybe it would always be there. But the difference was that he seemed to be willing to fight against it now. The difference was how he met her eyes without looking away.  
   
“Come here,” Tonks said. “Please.” She tugged at Remus’ hand until he shifted closer, only a few inches of bright green fabric still left between them. Tonks reached up with her free hand to wipe away the dust smudge on his cheek. Remus startled, then eased again under her touch.  
   
Gently, Tonks rested her hand against Remus’ cheek and drew him towards her, until his head came to rest on her chest. She shifted, setting her back against the arm of the loveseat so he could lean his weight against her. The hand that still held his, she circled around Remus until their joined hands rested on his chest and she could feel his heart pulsing beneath the fabric of his robes. There was no sound now but their breathing, and by slow degrees, Remus relaxed into her embrace.  
   
Tonks looked down over his dusty, disarrayed hair, and studied their entwined hands. She’d always loved Remus’ elegant, capable hands. She loved the way he held a wand, at ease and in control.  
   
As she watched, Remus bent his head and pressed his lips to her fingers. His lips were warm against her skin and Tonks shivered.  
   
“Will you stay?” she whispered. “I mean – stay, and sleep here tonight. You’ve to sleep somewhere, haven’t you?”  
   
“There’s so much we need to talk about,” Remus mumbled. He sounded like he was fighting off sleep, after this endless and exhausting night.  
   
“Yeah,” Tonks agreed. “There is.”  
   
Dumbledore was dead. The Order would have to change to meet that challenge. _Everything_ would have to change. What would happen with Remus’ mission with the werewolves? What would happen in Hogsmeade, and at Hogwarts? Tonks could hardly imagine it, a future without Dumbledore to lead them. Maddening though his inscrutable ways had sometimes been, they’d always known they could count on Dumbledore to have a plan. Everything from here on out was a great unknown.  
   
And yet, for the first time in a long time, Tonks felt inside herself a tentative unfurling of hope.  
   
“We can talk tomorrow,” she told Remus quietly, her hand still resting against the reassuring beat of his heart. “And every day after that. But for tonight…stay here and sleep. What I want more than anything in the world right now is to fall asleep next to you.”  
   
She felt Remus startle back to full alertness within the circle of her arms. “Really?” he asked, twisting so he could look up at her. “Really, is that what you want? Is this…all right?”  
   
Tonks felt her face crack into the unaccustomed shape of a smile. Oh, it felt so good to smile.  
   
“Yes,” she said. “It’s much, much more than all right. Come to bed.”  
   
“Well,” Remus said gravely. “I wouldn’t want to presume I would be welcome there.”  
   
Tonks leaned forward and kissed his hair, laughing now and giddy and maybe a little hysterical, too, from all the intense emotions of this long night. “Yes,” she said. “You’re welcome. You’re invited. But very unfortunately I’m not going to be able to join you there if you keep sitting on my legs.”  
   
“Oh!” Remus gave a short laugh of surprise. “Yes, right.” He slid from her arms, his hand still holding hers, and levered himself up from the loveseat with a battle-weary groan. But tired though he might be, Remus was as strong as ever – he pulled at her hand and suddenly Tonks found herself on her feet, face to face with Remus.   
   
Her breath caught in her throat, once again, at the tenderness in his eyes.  
   
“I have missed you so much,” Remus said softly.  
   
“Same,” Tonks told him, her throat tight. “You too.”  
   
She tugged his hand, remembering the very first time Remus had surrendered his fears and come to her bed, over a year ago now. That night had been about all that was exciting and new; tonight was, at long last, a return to what was familiar and beloved. Tonight, exhausted, they would only sleep. Tonight, they would curl into each other like wounded animals and take comfort in one another’s warmth.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll be continuing with the once-every-two-weeks posting for the final two chapters. So check in two weekends from now for the next-to-last chapter of the story!


	21. Returning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next-to-last chapter!

 

 _Love, it will not betray you, dismay or enslave you_  
_It will set you free_  
_Be more like the man_  
_You were meant to be_  
   
_–Mumford and Sons, Sigh No More_

 

Remus opened his eyes and it all rushed back: battle, Death Eaters, _Dumbledore_.  
   
But before those memories of battle and loss returned, even before opening his eyes, Remus was aware of something else, too.  
   
Tonks was here. He was here with Tonks.  
   
She was sleeping still, Remus saw when he opened his eyes. The morning light was pale through the bedroom curtains, so it must be very early. Gently, so as not to wake her, Remus shifted onto his side and studied the woman beside him, her face at rest and her brown hair splayed across the pillow beneath her cheek. This was a sight he had missed with a bone-weary ache all through the last, long year.  
   
It was strange, and yet somehow not strange at all, how suddenly everything had changed.  
   
Just a day ago, Remus had still been fiercely denying himself this happiness, the deep, quiet joy of knowing Tonks was here beside him.   
   
All along, all through this year and even before, there had been so many people telling him he was wrong to push Tonks away. But it had taken Tonks herself to finally shake him all the way to his core, and make him see that it was time to let go of his last hold on his own crippling fear.   
   
This much Remus knew: Love – especially when he, Remus J. Lupin, formed one half of it – would always be a risk. And yet…it was possible to choose to take that the risk, because the risk was worth the chance at happiness.   
   
It still terrified Remus to think of putting Tonks in danger. Even now, the terror inside him nearly equaled the joy he felt, and he doubted it would ever leave him entirely. But what Tonks had taught him at last was that this choice – to take the chance at both joy and danger – was hers to make for herself, just as his own decision was also his own. Tonks’ choice was not his to take away from her.  
   
And, impossibly, she had chosen him.  
   
Remus watched in deep, contented silence as one bold ray of morning sunlight slipped through the bedroom curtains to trace a slow but steady path across the pale expanse of the pillow towards Tonks’ cheek. Tonks, who was beautiful and perfect and _herself_ , and looking at her filled Remus with such joy that it hurt, as if the feeling was so big it was trying to burst beyond the confines of his chest.  
   
There wouldn’t be much time to bask in this new happiness, though – not today, at least, when there was so much to be done. The Order as a whole would need to meet and determine how to continue on, now that their guide and master planner was gone. And Remus himself needed to think hard about his responsibilities to the werewolf pack, and how he could remain true to his loyalties there even as all the lines of his life were redrawn.   
   
The Order would need him, he knew that much. From the moment Ginny Weasley had brought the terrible news that Dumbledore was dead, even as Remus’ heart was pounding with shock and grief, some part of him, too, had stood to attention. The Order would need all of them now more than ever.  
   
But for now, for this moment, Remus would savour happiness.  
   
Beside him, Tonks shifted and mumbled in her sleep. Her face was mashed into the pillow now, a curtain of soft hair obscuring her face. The ray of sunlight from the window had almost reached her cheek.   
   
Tonks mumbled again, blinking, and opened her eyes. The expression that lit her face when she saw Remus – only joy, no trace of regret – told him more than anything else could have done that this choice was the right one.  
   
“Good morning,” he murmured, from where he had his head propped up on his elbow, the better to look at her. His voice came out still low and rough from sleep.  
   
Tonks grinned up at him. “Are you really here? Not a figment of my demented imagination?”  
   
Remus lifted his other hand from the blankets and solemnly pinched his own forearm. “Ouch. Nope, not a figment.”  
   
Her grin turned both cheeky and shy. “A kiss to prove it?”  
   
Remus leaned down across the pillow and kissed her. Tonks sighed against his lips, and Remus could feel her smiling. The joy coursing through him felt so bright he thought surely Tonks must be able to see it, sparking there under his skin.  
   
“Are you –” Tonks began, when their lips had parted. “Are we… Are we trying this? Being together, I mean?”  
   
“I think we…I think we could. That is – if you are willing –”  
   
“I’m willing,” Tonks said firmly. “Are you?”  
   
His hand still resting against Tonks’ arm, Remus stopped and listened inside himself. He waited for the old panic to rise, the frightened voice that told him to run, now, for everyone’s sake. But that voice stayed silent. Remus searched and searched inside himself, but he found nothing but gladness.  
   
“Yes,” he said. “More than willing.” The words felt strange in his mouth. Strange, but very much right.  
   
Tonks grinned at him. “That’s nice to hear.”  
   
Remus studied her face and was amazed all over again at the happiness he saw there. It seemed incredible that she could be so glad simply at the sight of him.   
   
“You are extraordinary,” he blurted out.  
   
“Not particularly,” Tonks said, scrunching up her nose. “I don’t think.” She rolled suddenly closer, pulling him towards her. “Come here, though.”  
   
And Remus followed the magnetic pull of her words, just as he had done the night before in the hospital wing, fell against her and pressed his nose into the warmth of Tonks’ throat. She giggled, Tonks _giggled_ , a sound pure and full of delight, and Remus pressed even closer, wanting to absorb some of that unalloyed joy.  
   
When he raised his head again to smile at her, a flash of brightness caught his eye, a glint of something golden at Tonks’ throat.  
   
“My mother’s locket,” Remus breathed. “You still wear it?”  
   
Tonks ducked her head, as if this steadfastness of hers were an embarrassment rather than the wonder that it was. “Yeah.”  
   
Remus ran one wondering finger along the slender golden chain of the locket he had kept and protected for years, one of the very few possessions he had from his parents. His father’s watch, his mother’s locket, a few books and his own name – that was about all Remus had left of the two people who had spent their lives fighting for him and his right to exist in the wizarding world.  
   
He had given the locket to Tonks on her birthday last year, even though things between them at the time had been rocky and confused, even though Tonks had seemed staggered by the enormity of a gift with such personal history. But it had seemed to Remus unquestionably right and true that Tonks should have it.  
   
And she had continued to wear it all this year, despite everything.  
   
 Tonks, too, reached up a hesitant hand and found the lump formed by the woven-grass pouch Remus wore under his shirt. Her eyes met his in a question, and he nodded. Gently, she tugged at the cord until the pouch slipped free from the neck of his shirt.  
   
“What is it?” she asked softly.  
   
“Ashes from the Beltane fire. It’s meant to have protective powers. If you get close to it, you can still smell the wood fire.”  
   
Tonks lowered her nose to the pouch and sniffed. “It does,” she said. “It smells like fire, and like the moor.” She tucked it gently back inside his shirt and met Remus’ eyes. “I hope it does have those powers,” she said solemnly. “I hope it protects you.”  
   
Her eyes were on him now and Remus felt his breath catch –  
   
Something chirped from the floor beside the bed.  
   
Tonks let out a groan. “Aurorlog,” she grumbled, one arm reaching down to fumble for it on the floor. “Oh, damn –” Her hand finally emerged, clutching a burnished metal wristband. She studied it, then made a face. “I have to get to work. There’s a meeting with the other Aurors. Which is no surprise, there’s a lot we need to discuss. But oh, Remus, I wish I could stay here with you, and stay, and stay…”  
   
Remus shook his head, although he couldn’t keep himself from smiling at her in agreement. “It’s all right. I should go as well. I need to go to the pack and explain what’s happened.”  
   
“Will you –” Tonks broke off, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Will you…come back here? At some point after that?”  
   
Remus caught her hand in his. “That’s what I need to tell the pack. I think – I think my place is here, now. The Order will need all of us. And I want, well…” Even now, it was so difficult to say it out loud. “I want to be here with you.”  
   
“Oh,” Tonks said, sounding very surprised. Then she said fiercely, “Yes, be here. I want you here.” And she grabbed Remus’ face between her hands and kissed him until neither of them could breathe.  
   
“If I come back tonight, will you promise more of that?” Remus asked, hearing how husky his voice had gone.  
   
“ _Yes_ ,” Tonks said. “Oh, Merlin, Remus, yes.” She threaded one hand through the hair at the nape of his neck, drew him towards her and kissed him a last time, very gently. “Now go already, would you, so you can be back as soon as possible?”  
   
Remus smiled and returned her kiss. “I promise.”  
   
He swung his feet to the floor and reached for the trousers he’d left there beside the bed; Tonks slid past him with a last affectionate peck to the edge of his ear, then began to hunt for her clothes amidst the chaos of the flat. Remus supressed a fond smile, because some things really never did change.  
   
Remus fetched his robes and Tonks, now in a bright yellow T-shirt and a striking pair of purple jeans, narrowly avoided tripping over a pile of laundry as she dashed around the flat, pulling on her official robes over her clothing, then careening to a stop in front of the wall mirror to check that she was presentable for a day of Auror duties. The sunlight now streaming through the window caught the outline of her cheek and lit up the brown hair that swung beside her face, highlighting her profile in luminous gold.  
   
As Remus watched, Tonks, who was usually in constant motion, went still, her eyes caught by her own reflection.  
   
“I wonder –” she started, then broke off and frowned thoughtfully at the mirror. She screwed up her face in a very familiar way, and a moment later her hair was short and spiky and pink. “Oh!” she said, staring at herself in surprise. “I _can_.” She spun to grin at Remus. “Would you look at that?”  
   
– – – – –  
   
Serena and the Mother were the only ones in the clearing when Remus stepped through the trees. Serena’s eyes went wide when she saw him. She jumped up from her seat on a tree stump next to Anna’s hammock, and came to meet Remus at the edge of the clearing. Anna’s wise, wrinkled face, too, peered from the edge of her hammock, although she said nothing.  
   
“We were worried,” Serena told Remus, stopping a pace short of where he stood. “We didn’t expect you would be away all night.”  
   
“I’m so sorry,” Remus said. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. It was only meant to be routine guard duty, but there was a battle at Hogwarts, and – there’s a lot I should explain, actually. And I suppose I ought to tell it to Alpha first.” He turned towards Anna’s hammock and bowed his head. “Mother,” he said. “I greet you.”  
   
He raised his head to find Anna studying him, her cloudy eyes dancing with amusement. “Young One,” she said. “Young City Wolf. Come here.”  
   
Aware that Serena, too, was watching him curiously, Remus crossed the clearing to Anna and dropped to his haunches beside the hammock.  
   
“Well!” Anna declared, her all-seeing eyes raking over Remus, seeming to take in every bit of his being. She let out a laugh like a cackle. “Didn’t I say so?”  
   
Remus could feel Serena’s eyes on him, too, scrutinising his body language, seeking out the same clues Anna saw.  
   
“You’ve suffered a great loss,” the Mother went on. “And yet on the whole you’re happy. How very intriguing you are, Young Wolf.”  
   
“Mother,” Remus began. “I’m not sure where to begin –”  
   
But Anna smiled and shook her head. “You’re right, of course – it’s Alpha you’ll be wanting to speak to. He’s out hunting now, but you can help Trouble with her baskets while you wait.”  
   
With this pronouncement and an imperious wave of her hand, Anna submerged back into the depths of her hammock.  
   
So Remus spent the day helping Serena weave baskets to replace ones that had grown tattered after a winter’s hard use. He didn’t tell her anything more about what had happened at Hogwarts, and she didn’t ask. Such news went to the Alpha first, as the pack’s hierarchy dictated.  
   
In the afternoon, the others began to drift back into the camp, each greeting Remus warmly, welcoming him home as they would do for any member of the pack.  
   
How strange to think he would be leaving this camaraderie, now that he finally belonged to it at last.  
   
But when the Alpha returned in the evening, Remus didn’t hesitate. “Alpha, may I speak?” he asked, approaching with his head lowered.  
   
The Alpha looked Remus up and down with his shrewd gaze and said, “Returning to the city, Quiet?”  
   
Remus had long ago given up trying to figure out how the Alpha read his mind from the lines of his face or the angle of his posture. He only nodded.  
   
“I am needed there,” Remus said. “But I wouldn’t like to go without asking your leave.”  
   
The Alpha nodded, looking thoughtful. “You have my leave. Although we will be sorry to lose your company.”  
   
“And I am sorry to leave,” Remus replied. A year ago, he couldn’t have imagined saying those words, but now he meant them with all his heart. He looked around at the pack, at all their familiar faces. He had fought Greyback to protect these werewolves, and he would gladly do it again. “I hope we can remain friends,” he said. “I hope we can be allies. Albus Dumbledore –” Remus choked on the word and had to begin again. “Albus Dumbledore is dead. He was killed last night by Voldemort’s supporters.”  
   
All around him, the others were listening intently, their bodies tense and quiet. The Alpha’s eyebrows lifted, which coming from him was quite an expression of shock.  
  
“I hope this won’t change the friendship between us,” Remus said. “The rest of the Order are committed to being your allies, just as Dumbledore was. I need to return there – I’m needed with the Order now. But if you ever need anything from us… I hope you’ll call on me.”  
   
The Alpha nodded gravely. “And you may do the same. You are one of this pack, Quiet.”  
   
Remus bowed his head deeply in gratitude.  
   
Then he turned to look at the rest of the pack: sensible Brighid, brash Jack, no-nonsense Ashmita. Serena watching him with understanding, Ronan with respect in his eyes and Eirwen with admiration. Joy gazing up at him wide-eyed, from below Serena’s hand that rested gently on the top of her head. Anna peering out, wise and all seeing, from her hammock.  
   
Serena spoke softly, echoing the Alpha’s sentiment. “We’re your friends, Quiet, and we’re here if you need us. Call on us.”  
   
“Yeah,” Ronan said, and even though it wasn’t quite correct for him to speak before the older adults of the pack had had their say, no one scolded him. “If you need us – we want to help.”  
   
“Agreed,” Jack boomed.  
   
And one by one, they all chimed in with words of friendship.  
   
“Thank you,” Remus said, deeply moved. He bowed again, to all of them. “It’s been an honour to live with you.”  
   
All of the pack bowed their heads in reply.  
   
There was no more cause to linger, then. Remus had made his decision and it was time to go, as much as it wrenched his heart to leave this pack that had become like a family. But there was one more thing Remus needed to do before he left here, one more responsibility he would not feel right if he did not discharge.  
   
He caught Serena’s hand and pressed a small scroll of parchment into it.  
   
“It’s a letter,” he said. He’d borrowed parchment and a quill from Tonks and written this out before leaving her flat. “It’s addressed to Minerva McGonagall, who’s now the headmistress of Hogwarts, and it expresses my support for Joy – for River – to be admitted to the school, if you decide you want to send her there when she’s old enough. Accommodations could be made for her transformations, the same as was done for me. Just – just keep it in case you ever change your mind,” he said quickly, before Serena could reject the scroll he was holding out to her.  
   
Serena looked down at the rolled parchment and shook her head minutely side to side. Over what exactly, Remus couldn’t say for certain. His audacity in giving her this? His stupidity in thinking she would want it? But that wasn’t his to know. It would be enough if she agreed to take the letter.  
   
“All right,” Serena said at last. Remus could read nothing in her tone. But she took the letter and tucked away into an inner pocket of her hand-sewn shirt.  
   
“Thank you,” Remus murmured.  
   
And with a last bowing of his head to the friends who stood in a circle around him, he turned to go.  
   
– – – – –  
   
It was a sombre crowd that crammed into McGonagall’s office that evening for an Order meeting. Hagrid, over by the door with his head nearly touching the ceiling, was weeping into his hands. The space was cramped, with so many of the Order present, but it had been a prudent decision to meet here instead of at Headquarters. They all knew there was the danger that Snape might even now be revealing the location of the Grimmauld Place house to other Death Eaters.  
   
Snape. It chilled Tonks to think of how he’d been here in their midst all this time, privy to their secrets, and she’d never suspected him. Of being difficult, rude and condescending, yes, but not of being a traitor. She’d never doubted his loyalty to the cause, even as he made no secret of his loathing for so many of its individual members, and that was what baffled her the most, now. Snape was a traitor and Tonks had never even guessed it. She’d thought her people instincts better than that.  
   
Of Snape himself, of course, there had been no sign. Dumbledore’s murderer had gone utterly to ground. Tonks bit her lip hard against the anger that welled up in her at the very thought of Snape.  
   
Remus dashed into the room just as the meeting started, squeezing through the press of people to reach Tonks where she stood wedged in beside McGonagall’s desk. He slipped in next to her and caught her hand, right there in front of everyone, and Tonks felt her whole body light up with happiness. She glanced over at Remus and saw the same amazed elation reflected in his face. Her whole day had been like this, swinging wildly between grief and joy.  
   
“Hi,” Remus whispered, his hand holding tightly to hers.  
   
“Wotcher,” Tonks murmured, and she thought her face might crack open from grinning so hard.  
   
McGonagall began the meeting by summarising the previous night’s events, most of which Tonks knew, since she’d been present when they happened. But her jaw dropped open in horror at one crucial new piece of information McGonagall revealed.  
   
“Madam Rosmerta?” Tonks gasped. “ _Madam Rosmerta_ was the outside accomplice, smuggling all those deadly things into Hogwarts?”  
   
“Unwillingly,” McGonagall hastened to add. “She was under an Imperius Curse, and she’s horrified with guilt now that the curse is lifted and she’s aware of what she’s done.”  
   
Tonks reeled. She’d interviewed Rosmerta. She’d talked to Rosmerta, often, during her time stationed in the village. She’d noticed and felt badly about how distressed Rosmerta seemed lately, but she’d never seriously considered the possibility of an Imperius Curse.  
   
_Stupid, stupid_ , Tonks berated herself. _How do you hide in plain sight? By forcing the sweetest-natured person, the one no one would suspect, to do your bidding in your stead._  
   
“You couldn’t have known,” McGonagall was saying, her voice unusually gentle. “It was an…inconsistent curse at best, with an inconsistent influence. Inexpertly cast by a frightened child…” McGonagall cleared her throat and visibly pulled herself together. “In any case, Rosmerta had nothing to do with the events that occurred last night. Albus would have –” She sniffed loudly and began again, sounding congested now. “Albus would have been killed regardless. There was no way any of us could have foreseen what happened.”  
   
Remus squeezed Tonks’ hand in his, and she pressed closer against him, glad for the warmth of him there by her side.  
   
By the time they stumbled out to the corridor after the longest Order meeting Tonks could remember, she’d made an unhappy peace with her failure. Rosmerta had been under an Imperius Curse all this time and Tonks hadn’t guessed. That was a fact she couldn’t undo, and she couldn’t undo the harm she’d allowed to happen because of it. But she could remember it, and be damn sure she was three times as careful next time.  
   
As the rest of the Order dispersed around them, Remus and Tonks lingered there outside McGonagall’s office, his hand still in hers. Remus gazed at Tonks, with a fond smile crinkling up the corners of his eyes in that way that made Tonks want to kiss every bit of his face all at the same time. Though probably not here in front of everyone. Although, then again, even that she could be talked into pretty easily, with the sight of those affectionate eyes on her.  
   
“I was hoping to visit Bill in the hospital wing,” Remus mused, his hand still warm and firm in Tonks’. “But it’s quite late now. Do you suppose he’s sleeping?”  
   
“Can’t hurt to check. That is, if you dare to try to talk your way past Madam Pomfrey, ferocious guardian of the Hogwarts hospital wing.”  
   
Remus smiled. “That I believe I can manage.”  
   
So they walked to the hospital wing, hand in hand, and Remus indeed charmed his way in past Madam Pomfrey. Bill was sitting up and Fleur was perched on the edge of his bed.  
   
“Remus! Tonks!” Fleur cried, when she looked up and saw them. “Oh, but eet eez so good to see you!”  
   
Tonks had never experienced Fleur’s gaze directed at her with warmth instead of scorn, and it turned out to make a whole lot of difference. For the first time, Tonks thought Fleur might actually be somebody she could be interested in getting to know.  
   
“Hullo you two!” Bill said, jovial despite the painful-looking state of his face. “I hear you put on quite the drama here last night. I can’t believe I missed the show.” He winked cheekily at them, from the side of his face that wasn’t quite as battered as the other.  
   
Tonks slid her eyes towards Remus, wondering if he was embarrassed, if he was regretting the very public commotion that they – okay, to be fair, mostly _she_ – had made the night before. Remus cleared his throat a little awkwardly, but he didn’t protest at Bill’s teasing, and he didn’t let go of Tonks’ hand as they sat down side by side on two chairs next to the bed.  
   
“Er, yes,” Remus said. “I had some sense shaken into me, you might say.”  
   
“Leeterally,” Fleur smirked, and Tonks felt herself flush. Yes, she had a very vivid memory of grabbing Remus by the front of his robes and physically _shaking_ him. They all must’ve thought she’d gone round the twist.  
   
But Bill was smiling at them affably, as much as he could manage around his lacerations and bruises. “I’m happy for you both,” he said, his usually light-hearted voice now quite earnest. “And seeing as it would probably be uncharitable to say ‘It’s about damn time,’ I’ll leave it at that.”  
   
Fleur giggled and pressed her nose adoringly to Bill’s nose, clearly not minding the sight of his still livid wounds.  
   
“Thanks for that restraint,” Remus replied wryly. “And you? How are you feeling?”  
   
Bill shrugged. “Surprisingly okay. I’ve got this weird craving for raw steak, but otherwise I feel pretty normal. And if that’s the worst that happens to me out of all this, you won’t hear me complaining.”  
   
They stayed and chatted a little longer, long enough to let Remus to reassure himself that Bill really did seem to be all right. Then Tonks and Remus said their goodbyes to Bill and Fleur, and made their way out of the castle. It was dark outside, and the world seemed strangely quiet as they stood on the wide front steps of the school and let the oak doors swing shut behind them.  
   
Tonks breathed in deeply, appreciating the cool evening air.  
   
“Come home with me?” she said. She still hardly dared to ask it.  
   
In answer, Remus reached out and took her hand. Tonks smiled, and squeezed his fingers in hers.  
   
“The flat in Hogsmeade isn’t going to be home for much longer, though,” Tonks said, as they started down the steps. “The word from Scrimgeour today was that searching for Snape and the Death Eaters is now top priority – we’re all being posted back to London right after the funeral. I’ll have to look for a new place there.” Walking beside her down the long castle drive, Remus nodded but didn’t say anything in response, so Tonks asked, “And you?” Remus hadn’t said yet what his plans were, exactly, only that he would be taking his leave from the werewolf pack.  
   
“I should probably look for a place in London as well,” he murmured. “I ought to be near the Order.”  
   
“Remus.” Tonks stopped walking, so Remus stopped too. She gave him a pointed look. “Are you maybe kind of missing an obvious solution?”  
   
Remus stared back with eyebrows raised. Tonks stared some more, waiting for him to get it.  
   
“Oh!” he said, faintly surprised. “You’d like to live together?”  
   
“Only if you want to,” she mumbled, starting to walk again and picking up her pace. “We don’t have to. I know it’s taking it kind of fast –”  
   
“I’d like that,” Remus said.  
   
Tonks spun around to look at him, with the result that of course she tripped over her own feet. Remus’ hand at her elbow righted her. They’d reached the school gates now, so once she’d recovered her balance Tonks pulled out her wand to unlock the gates and let them through.  
   
“I would like to live together,” Remus repeated solemnly, once they were on the other side and Tonks had refastened the gates. “I think that would be quite nice.”  
   
Tonks laughed, giddy happiness blossoming in her chest. “Yeah, as it happens, I think it would be pretty nice, too.”  
   
They would live together. They would find a flat in London and live there together. She wasn’t dreaming it. Remus was really here, walking next to her, showing her with his actions that he meant the words he said. Because if Remus were even the least bit uncertain about her, about them, then they definitely would not have arrived at the point of deciding to go flat-hunting together.  
   
It was real. They were really doing this.  
   
Tonks laughed in delight. Then she snorted. “D’you mind, though, if I don’t spend all my time kissing your nose?”  
   
Remus chuckled in response. “And I hope you aren’t expecting me to acquire a fang earring.”  
   
Tonks pretended to study him, in the dimness of the forest path. “Hm, I dunno. I think you could rock a fang earring, actually.”  
   
Remus smiled in the darkness.  
   
As they walked through the night-time quiet of the woods, Tonks felt how alert her senses were, still. A day had passed since the battle at Hogwarts, and while her mind knew that the most immediate danger was past, her body still seemed to think Death Eaters might attack out of the shadows at any moment.  
   
Well, technically Death Eaters _might_ attack out of the shadows at any moment, but no more so than on any other day. And as an Auror, Tonks was always prepared.  
   
The battle of the night before felt both impossibly long ago already, and somehow also so close at hand that Tonks’ skin tingled with the need to stay alert for danger. It was so hard to believe everything that had happened. Death Eaters inside Hogwarts, and Dumbledore –  
   
How could Dumbledore be _gone_?  
   
They were nearing the sleeping village when Remus said suddenly, “I blame myself.”  
   
The roughness in his voice was startling in the quiet. Tonks turned to look at him, barely able to make out his features in the dark.  
   
“Snape,” Remus said, his voice pained. “I should have seen him for what he was. If anyone should have realised, it was I, when I’d known him for so long.”  
   
“Not longer than _Dumbledore_ knew him,” Tonks retorted, and a shudder of horror hit her agan at that thought, Dumbledore living all those years with his murderer right there at his side, and not knowing. Dumbledore had trusted Snape with such utter certainty. _Why_ had Dumbledore been so certain he could trust Snape?  
   
To Remus she said staunchly, “And if even Dumbledore didn’t see, how could anyone expect you to?”  
   
“I was so determined not to judge Snape by his past that I was blinded by him,” Remus insisted, in that same pained voice. “I should have known better than to trust him.”  
   
“ _No_ ,” Tonks said. “All of us should have known better. Any of us should have paid more attention and figured it out. But we should have done it by looking at who he is now, not by judging him because of his past. Not by being prejudiced. Remus, don’t stop being that person who refuses to judge people without evidence. I adore that person.”  
   
Remus glanced at her in surprise, in the warm spill of light as they passed under the first of the street lanterns at the edge of the village. It took him by surprise when she expressed affection for him, even after all this time.  
   
In answer, Tonks reached out and grabbed his hand. His fingers were cool and rough in hers, but that only made her want to hang on tighter.  
   
She said firmly, “And anyway, if we’re assigning blame now, then I blame myself for not seeing that Rosmerta was under an Imperius curse, when she was right there under my nose all year. And I’ll never forgive myself, either, for not being able to keep Sirius safe. I know you feel the same, I know you think you should have been able to save him somehow.” She turned to Remus, stopping on the cobblestones in front of the darkened shopfront of Honeydukes. “But Remus, we can spend all our time wallowing in blame for what we should have done – or we can figure out how to do it better going forward. And I want to look forward.”  
   
McGonagall had implied, at the meeting tonight, that Dumbledore had left Harry some weighty task to carry out. But no one but Harry, it seemed, even knew what the task was.  
   
It didn’t seem fair that once again the whole fate of the wizarding world was coming down on the shoulders of a boy not yet seventeen. Harry was equal to the challenge, of course; he’d proved it time and again. But he shouldn’t have to fight his battle alone. It was the Order’s duty to fight beside him as much as they could.  
   
“We have to be there for Harry,” Tonks said. “That’s the most important thing, the Order and Harry, and how can we do our job if we’re lost in thinking about what should have been?”  
   
Remus’ fingers squeezed around hers. “I’m trying,” he said hoarsely.  
   
They arrived, then, at the door that led up to Tonks’ little flat above Twilfit and Tattings.  
   
Tonks slid her hand from Remus’ hand up to his shoulder, feeling suddenly shy. She still couldn’t quite believe he was really here.  
   
“So…” she said. “Want to come up and see my Chocolate Frog card collection?”  
   
Remus blinked at her. “Your… Sorry, what did you just say?”  
   
Laughter bubbled up, and Tonks clapped her other hand over her mouth – her laugh sounded so loud in the quiet street. “It’s a _line_ , Remus. You know, a really transparent attempt to make it sound like I’m not asking you what I’m really asking you. ‘Want to come upstairs for a butterbeer?’ ‘Want to see this cool spell I invented?’ ‘Want to listen to that new programme on the WWN?’”  
   
Now Remus snorted. “If that sort of thing is what’s involved in dating, then you’re making me glad I’ve always been quite terrible at it.”  
   
Tonks grinned. Then, just as fast, she felt her mood swinging back towards grief. She’d been feeling so many feelings at once, this past day, that her heart didn’t know where it was from one moment to the next. Ever since Remus had met her eyes in the hospital wing. Ever since Ginny Weasley had brought the news that Dumbledore was dead, and the world had shifted under everyone’s feet.  
   
“There’s so much that’s terrible right now,” Tonks said softly. “Sometimes it’s all I can think about, how hopeless this war feels. How little there is that I can do, and whether there’s even any point in trying. But I have to believe we can make a difference. I have to try. And if the only thing we can do is be there for Harry until it’s time for him to do whatever it is that he’s got to do – well, then I want to do that.”  
   
Remus’ hand came up and found hers where it rested against his shoulder; he covered her hand with his own. “And I’ll be there with you,” he said in a low voice.  
   
Tonks smiled, a wobbly sort of smile that didn’t quite know whether it wanted to laugh or cry.  
   
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all year,” she said, and her voice came out wobbly, too.  
   
“Dora,” Remus said softly, and now Tonks smiled for real, because she would never, never get tired of the way Remus said her name.  
   
“Come here,” Tonks whispered, and she cupped one hand against Remus’ cheek and drew him towards her, until she could feel his breath warm against her cheek. She felt desire unfurling in her, as if it were a living thing that grew up out of the ground, swelling upwards through the soles of her feet until it filled every part of her with warmth and want.  
   
She pulled Remus close to her, and he came willingly, _eagerly_ , until they were pressed against each other chest to chest, sharing warmth in the cool spring night.  
   
Then Remus bent his head down and pressed his lips to hers, and that unfurling warmth exploded into a lightning-bolt shock of desire. Tonks gasped and kissed him back as hard as she could.  
   
“Upstairs,” she said urgently against his cheek. “Yes?”  
   
“Yes,” Remus said, and Tonks could feel him smiling, a whisper of movement as his lips curved up against the corner of her mouth.  
   
Tonks had never run up the stairs and unlocked the door to her flat so fast. The place was a chaos of untidy clothing and scattered belongings, like always, and it had never mattered less. Tonks pulled Remus into the flat with her and secured the door behind them. Then she stopped and looked at Remus in the soft lamplight and he was smiling so hard, like his face had forgotten how to be any other way.  
   
Tonks grinned back at him, so happy it hurt her chest to try to contain it all. She pulled Remus close and smiled up into his dear, beloved face. “Will you come to bed?” she asked.  
   
And Remus said, “ _Yes_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here again for reference, the members of the werewolf pack:
> 
> the Alpha, a male in his 40s, the pack’s leader  
> Anna, or the Mother, the oldest pack member, symbolic mother of all  
> Brighid, or Fire, the Alpha’s mate, roughly his age  
> Serena, or Trouble, roughly Remus’ age  
> Jack, or Thunderstorm, a little younger than the Alpha, Ashmita’s mate  
> Ashmita, or Rock Crag, Jack’s mate  
> Ronan, or Hardwood, young adult member of the pack, perhaps 20  
> Narun, or Rapids, roughly the same age  
> Adair, or Jump, roughly the same age  
> Tamara, or Blackthorn, roughly the same age  
> Eirwen, or Slither, a young teenager, 13 or 14  
> Joy, or River Run, the pack’s youngest member, 6 or 7
> 
> I'm again going to give myself two weeks to get the final chapter up, because there are still some things I want to add to it and I haven't had a chance to look at that chapter in quite a while. I'll post sooner if I can, though...so, sometime within the next two weeks!


	22. Raise Your Lantern High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of a story that has occupied much of my heart and my brain for nearly six years, and I can't quite believe this day has come! Like the great J. K. Rowling herself, I feel compelled to thank you, the reader, who have stuck with these characters until the very end.

 

**Chapter 22: Raise Your Lantern High**

 

 _Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow_  
_Things should start to get interesting right about now_  
   
_–Bob Dylan, Mississippi_

 

Tonks surveyed the chaos of trunks and packing crates that her Hogsmeade flat had become. Dumbledore’s funeral would be held the next day, and she was expected to report for duty in London immediately afterwards. Once again, she’d been given a preposterously short timeframe in which to upend her entire life.  
   
This time, though, it was under far more agreeable circumstances.  
   
Tonks glanced across the room at Remus, where he was carefully fitting the last of her dishes into a wooden crate by applying an impressive Shrinking Charm to each of them in turn. It was evening, and Tonks was done with her work duties for the day and had moved on to the work of packing up her flat. Remus was taking the task of helping her move house – helping them _both_ move house, to London where they would live _together_ , it still seemed too good to believe – very seriously.  
   
Remus, too, glanced up from the crate he was packing, saw Tonks looking at him, and smiled.  
   
“Dora,” he said, and Tonks felt herself breaking into a grin yet again. She never got tired of hearing Remus say her name.  
   
“Just think, this time tomorrow, we’ll be in London,” she told him, just to watch how Remus lit up at her words.  
   
He unbent himself from the full crate of dishes, stood to stretch his back, and gave a small, wry chuckle. “We’re doing it all rather backwards, aren’t we?” he mused, his eyes roving over the half-controlled chaos that covered the floor between them. “Moving into a flat together, when we haven’t even talked about the future.” His eyes met hers across the room, earnest now. “Dora, when shall we have all those practical conversations that sensible people ought to have before joining their lives together?”  
   
_Joining their lives together_. Tonks decided she liked the sound of that very much. And Remus was right, of course: It had all happened so fast, they hadn’t got any further in discussing their future together than ‘find a flat in London and figure it out from there.’  
   
Tonks snorted in amusement, as she picked up the next of the T-shirts she was folding and laying in the travelling trunk that sat open in front of her. “We’ll have those conversations while we’re packing trunks and moving house, I guess. You and I never _are_ going to do anything in the proper order, are we?”  
   
Remus laughed, a sound that made Tonks’ heart dance in her chest. “It is starting to seem unlikely,” he agreed.  
   
“No reason we can’t start those conversations right now, though, as we’re packing,” Tonks pointed out, vaguely waving the T-shirt in her hand so that it fluttered like a bright flag. “Anything in particular you wanted to talk about?”  
   
Remus sobered instantly. “Finances, for one,” he said.  
   
Tonks blinked at him across the room. That wasn’t the first thing she’d have thought of to talk about, but it made sense that it would be for Remus. His perpetual state of poverty was one of his supposed “flaws” that worried Remus the most, when it came to offering himself as a potential partner. Well, after the whole werewolf thing.  
   
“Joining lives generally means joining finances,” Remus went on, “but the unfortunate fact is that I have no savings and few possessions; I have spent much of my life simply surviving from day to day, with the result that I have nothing to offer in that regard. I don’t want to become a burden on you. Perhaps we can find an arrangement where we share living space, but without that meaning you have to share the responsibility for my burdens.”  
   
“I don’t mind being responsible for your burdens,” Tonks said, her hands moving automatically to shove the T-shirt she was holding into the trunk and then going still. “I _want_ to share your burdens. That’s what being a couple means. It’s part of the deal, right?”  
   
“But what happens as I age?” Remus asked very seriously. “What if I grow truly ill and can’t work at all?”  
   
Tonks gripped the wooden edge of the trunk under her hands and stared at Remus fiercely, because she needed him to understand this. “If we’re going to be partners,” she said, “then we’re partners in all things. Good and bad. I earn a good salary and I put some of it away in Gringott’s every month, so I’ve got savings. Also, I dunno how you feel about living off the Black family fortune, but my sneaky Slytherin mother managed to smuggle out her share of the family gold before she told the rest of them to piss off forever, so there’s a reasonably full Gringott’s vault that we all spend most of our time pretending doesn’t exist, so that it will still be there if we ever need it. But even without any of that, even if I didn’t have a job or savings or parents who are frankly way too eager to help me out even when I’d rather they didn’t… I’d still want to shoulder our burdens together. If something happens to you – if something happens to me – we deal with it together. And in the meantime, both of us can contribute as much as we’re able, and however much that is, it’s fine.”  
   
She fixed Remus with another serious stare, already preparing counterarguments to whatever protestations he would come up with next. But to her surprise, Remus instead gave a short, surprised-sounding laugh.  
   
“Do you know,” he said, glancing down contemplatively at the crate of dishes in front of him, then back up at Tonks, “I think I’m more able to accept that idea than I would have been a year ago. The werewolf pack live like that – sharing their resources amongst everyone regardless of who is able to contribute how much, with no sense of resentment on any side. I wouldn’t have thought that could work, but it clearly did. So I think I’m able to accept the idea in principle. But only if I’m also allowed to contribute as much as I can to this partnership, as often I’m able to.”  
   
“Of course,” Tonks said. “That’s the whole idea.”  
   
Remus nodded thoughtfully, and his deft hands began to move again, starting work on the next crate, lifting cups and glasses and settling them down into the soft packing material he had Conjured. Watching him work – so flawlessly careful and neat – Tonks realised that she, too, had a caveat she needed to add to this conversation about their future.  
   
“Speaking of work,” she said, and Remus paused and looked over at her. “My job as Auror will always be dangerous. That’s another one of those facts that can’t be avoided. And I like my job, most days. I know it worries you when work or the Order puts me into danger. But I care about the work I do. I wouldn’t ever want to give it up.”  
   
“I know,” Remus said gravely. “And I have always admired your dedication to it. Of course I wish it didn’t come attached to such danger, but I would never ask you to give up the work you care about so deeply. I’ll worry sometimes, certainly, but I hope you know that I trust your abilities and your very sensible mind. I know you work hard to keep yourself and everyone around you safe.”  
   
Tonks felt herself grow warm at Remus’ words. She knew he admired and respected her, of course, but to hear him say it out loud was thrilling. She grinned across the room at him in appreciation.  
   
They each went on with their tasks, sorting things and shrinking things and packing them into boxes until the flat was stripped bare, as the summer sun sank slowly down beyond the streets of Hogsmeade and the late evening sky outside the windows turned from bright to dusky to rich, deep blue.  
   
A few times, as they each worked away on their respective tasks in different parts of the small flat, Tonks glanced over at Remus and thought he looked like he had something on his mind, but he said nothing and she didn’t press him. She trusted him to come out with whatever was weighing on him in his own time.  
   
It was late in the evening, as Tonks was peering into the far back reaches of the kitchen cupboards to make sure she hadn’t overlooked any last, stray items, that she heard Remus’ steps behind her, as he entered the little kitchen nook that formed one corner of the flat. Tonks turned and saw him standing there at the border where the tiles of the kitchen met the wooden floorboards of the small main room, holding himself carefully still.  
   
“Dora,” he said, and there was a catch in his voice. “There’s another thing we ought to discuss, if we’re speaking of the future.”  
   
Tonks tilted her head to show she was listening. Then, seeing how serious Remus looked, she closed the cupboard door and crossed the few steps to where he stood.  
   
“Dora,” he said again, his voice hoarse, and then he didn’t seem to know how to continue. “If we – that is to say, if we are to be together – if we’re talking seriously about a shared future, then it would be wrong of me not to tell you now that there…there can be no children, for us.” Now his words tumbled out, once the first blockage was breached. “At least, I can’t, not in good conscience, not when there’s the risk of passing on my illness. No one seems to know for certain how great the risk is, not even Healers who study the disease, but it’s a chance I would never want to take. And that means that by being with me, you would be giving up that prospect as well, and that’s a terrible thing to ask.”  
   
“Remus, I –”  
   
“I would understand,” he rushed on, with pain in his eyes but determination in the set of his jaw. “If having children is important to you, and if this changes how you feel, I would more than understand.”  
   
“ _Remus_ ,” Tonks said. She grabbed both his hands in her own, mostly to stop him from pacing nervously round the tiny kitchen, as he looked on the verge of doing. “ _This_ is what I choose. You think I don’t already know how you feel about children, and lycanthropy, and all of that? You think I haven’t already made my choice? _This_ is what’s important to me. Being with you. Seriously, truly, this is what I choose.”  
   
Remus’ voice was ragged. “In a few years, you might feel differently –”  
   
Tonks raised up one hand to catch around the back of Remus’ neck to pull him closer to her, until they stood nearly nose to nose. She stared straight up into his eyes.  
   
“No,” she said. “What I want is to be with you. If I die in battle tomorrow, or if I live to be a hundred and twenty and never have any kids in all that time, what I want most is to spend however many days I have with you.”  
   
“You –” Remus blinked, then stopped, then stared at her. “You really mean that.”  
   
“I really, really do.”  
   
The expression spreading slowly across Remus’ face took Tonks a moment to put a name to, because it wasn’t anything so simple as a smile. It was a deep joy that seemed to glow from somewhere inside him, even as Remus’ eyes remained earnest and fixed on her.  
   
“I feel the same,” Remus said slowly, his voice low and full of wonder. “I want to spend all my days with you.” One of Tonks’ hands was still holding his, and Remus grasped it more tightly in his own, his eyes never leaving hers. “Nymphadora Tonks, will you spend all your days with me?”  
   
Tonks’ voice did something halfway between a gasp and a laugh, and she said, “Remus, was that a _proposal_?”  
   
He blinked at her, like he was working his way back through what he’d said to arrive at the meaning he himself had put into it. He looked so full of joyous amazement, Tonks thought she might never get her fill of looking at him.  
   
Remus said, “I…I’m not quite sure. If it were, is it the sort of thing you might be amenable to?”  
   
Tonks laughed, her happiness bursting out full-throated, and she spun where she stood, pulling Remus with her, until they were both twirling there in the middle of the tiny kitchen floor, their elbows held in tight against their sides to avoid the cupboards, with Tonks laughing, and Remus laughing too.  
   
“You know what I think?” Tonks gasped, when she finally spun to a stop, dizzy, still holding tight to Remus. “I think we should keep having this conversation, in the next days and weeks and however long it takes. We should keep talking about all these things, all this stuff that sensible people have to figure out, and then after that, yeah, I think we should do that thing you said. That spending all our days together thing.”  
   
Remus was grinning at her – serious, sensible Remus Lupin was veritably _grinning_ – so it seemed only reasonable that Tonks should lean in and kiss him quite thoroughly.  
   
When they emerged to breathe again, standing there with their arms locked around each other, Tonks said, “And you know what, about children –”  
   
She felt Remus tense in her arms, almost imperceptibly. Like all his reactions, it was tightly controlled, but it was there.  
   
She hurriedly continued, “There are so many possibilities when it comes to kids. There’s adoption. Or just being involved in the lives of friends’ kids, being there for them like an aunt or an uncle, if you want that role. There’s being a teacher, like you’ve done. There are so many ways to be involved in raising children, without the risk of passing on an illness. And I think any of those would be _brilliant_ , with you. But it’s a choice we can make together, okay?”  
   
Remus dropped his forehead to rest against Tonks’, and she felt the tension in him ease again. Like its arrival, its departure too was subtle, but Tonks could tell the difference.  
   
“All right,” Remus said softly. “You’re right, of course. Questions like these don’t have to be only a yes or no answer.”  
   
They weren’t done with this particular subject, Tonks knew that. Like so many things in his unfairly complicated life, Remus would go on wrestling with this question of how much of a danger he posed to those he cared about, how close he dared to get, and whether the benefits of his presence outweighed the threat. Even with the children he had taught and mentored at Hogwarts, Tonks knew he had struggled with doubts about whether his presence did them more good than harm.  
   
Tonks, for one, considered the answer to that question obvious, but these were Remus’ questions to grapple with, not hers to answer for him. Much though she might wish to. But she could keep reminding him, every time the old fears rose again, that for her part, at least, she’d made a choice when it came to him, and she’d made it joyfully.     
   
With her arms still wrapped tightly around Remus, Tonks twisted so she could peer around him at the rest of the flat. “Hey,” she said. “Look at that. We did it.” She thrust her chin out in the direction of the packed boxes and crates stacked in the centre of the room, with nothing but bare floor and walls all around them. “All emptied out and packed up and ready for whatever the next adventure may be.”  
   
“Which points us to yet another factor to be discussed,” Remus said soberly. “Adventures, yes, but for certain parts of each month my activities are considerably limited. If we’re to live in London, I’ll need to find somewhere there where I can safely transform each month. Somewhere where I won’t be a danger to anyone.”  
   
Tonks slid her hand up Remus’ chest until it rested over his heart. She felt his heartbeat, steady and strong under her hand, and she spread her fingers protectively, trying to cover as much of him as possible under the span of her hand. She knew his past year hadn’t been easy, living outdoors at the mercy of cold and hunger, but in certain ways it must have been a relief. Living with fellow werewolves, he had been able to transform each month without the constant fear that he might hurt someone. Tonks didn’t want him to have to give that up in order to be with her.  
   
Maybe he could visit back to the pack at the full moons, even if he was no longer living with them? Or surely they could find a safe place in London, some utterly secure room, and maybe in time Tonks could find someone who would be able to teach her how to make Wolfsbane Potion, so Remus could keep his human mind during the full moons when he had no choice but to transform in proximity to non-werewolves.  
   
“We’ll find a way,” she said firmly. “I promise you that, Remus.”  
   
Remus nodded, but Tonks could see how it weighed on him. Spending every full moon of his life having to worry and plan and take precautions, it must leave him so weary. And yet, being Remus, he soldiered on.  
   
Wanting to draw away the sadness from his eyes, Tonks pressed her hand against the warmth of his chest and murmured, “In London, we’re going to make up for lost time, okay? We’re going to do all the things we’ve missed out on, this past year.”  
   
“Such as?” Remus’ hand, in turn, slid effortlessly down to the small of Tonks’ back. It was a comfortable sensation, his strong hand against her back, and downright sexy, too. Remus Lupin engaging in such confident, unambiguous touch.  
   
Tonks let her eyes flicker closed and tipped her head back, all her attention flooding to that point of contact, the warmth of Remus’ hand through the fabric of her shirt. When she opened her eyes again, Remus was smiling.  
   
Remembering belatedly that he’d asked a question, back before he started distracting her, Tonks said, “Such as, remember walking along the canal in Camden, on our first date? Let’s go back there. Walk along under the willows there again.”  
   
“All right.” Remus’ voice was so warm, Tonks wanted to wrap herself up in the sound of it.  
   
“You kissed me for the first time that night,” she reminded him.  
   
“How could I possibly forget?” His fingers were describing small, precise circles at the small of Tonks’ back now. She shivered at the sensation.  
   
“And remember the night, weeks before that, when we had to sit out in that field in Sussex in the cold for hours, in the middle of the night, waiting for Bill’s mates to fly in from abroad with a crate of potions ingredients for the Order? _Merlin_ but I wanted to kiss you that night! You wanted to too, didn’t you? Admit it, Remus, you did!”  
   
“I did want that, very much,” Remus admitted, his hand tightening against her back. “But at the time, I thought the impulse highly inappropriate.”  
   
Tonks snorted. “Oi, Lupin, you and your ideas of what’s _appropriate_. We’re going to work on that, all right?”  
   
Remus’ voice was amused. “Yes, all right.”  
   
Tonks laughed and pressed a kiss into his shoulder, it being so conveniently near and all.  
   
Remus turned his head until his nose was buried in Tonks’ hair, and breathed in deeply. They stood in silence like that for a few moments, simply enjoying one another’s presence. Then Remus said, very softly, “I wish Sirius were here, to see us now. All those times he told me I was being an idiot about this, about you and me, and now all I can think is that I wish he were here to tell me ‘I told you so’.”  
   
Tonks reached up one hand to cradle the back of his neck, her throat tight. “I wish that, too,” she said. “I wish – a lot of things. I wish I’d been able to stop Bellatrix. I wish we’d found Harry before he had a chance to get to the Ministry in the first place. I wish all of that. I think about it all the time.”  
   
“I wish I could have made Sirius stay back at the house that night,” Remus said. His voice broke over the last word, the pain of it raw even after all this time.  
   
Tonks pressed her cheek against his, wishing there were more she could offer in comfort.  
   
“But Sirius would never have stood for that,” Remus said, his voice firmer now. “Not when Harry was in danger. There was never going to be any way to keep Sirius safe, because if there was a battle, then in the middle of it was where Sirius wanted to be.” Quietly he added, “Sirius died protecting Harry and I know he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”  
   
Tonks nodded against his cheek. “I remember him that night, laughing, dashing into battle,” she said softly. “He was so happy to finally be fighting. He looked so alive, more than he did the whole year before it. That’s how I try to remember him, alive and fighting and so completely himself. It helps, a little.”  
   
The warmth was returning to Remus’ voice, as he said, “I swear I hear his voice in my head sometimes. Laughing at me, mostly, and telling me when I’m being a fool. Just like he did in life.” Remus chuckled gently, fondly, his breath warm against Tonks’ ear. “It’s good, you know, to have someone there to tell me when I’m being ridiculous.”  
   
Tonks smiled. “Hmm,” she said, lifting her lips teasingly close to Remus’ ear. “If Sirius has got the ‘ridiculous’ angle covered already, then I suppose I’ll have to think of other things to call you. Like, let’s see, how about ‘caring’ and ‘brilliant’ and ‘kind’ for a start?”  
   
“Oh, Dora –” Remus protested.  
   
“And ‘sexy’ and ‘gorgeous’…”  
   
“Seriously, now –”  
   
“And I could tell you, too, lots of things about what our life together is going to be like. Things like ‘wonderful’ and ‘all-around really totally fantastic’.”  
   
“Oh, well – yes, I agree with you, that part is true.”  
   
Tonks laughed, and was met by Remus’ answering chuckle.  
   
“Yes,” Remus repeated, his eyes meeting hers and the smile lines around his eyes deepening with gladness. “I do believe it’s going to be quite wonderful.”  
   
– – – – –  
   
The day of Dumbledore’s funeral dawned beautifully sunny. It was strange, Remus thought, that such a solemn occasion could be met with such natural beauty. Today, they would bury the man who’d been a beloved mentor to generations of British and Irish wizards.  
   
Thinking quietly of Dumbledore, the man to whom he owed so much of his life as he knew it, Remus went slowly about his morning. He set out his best robes, which was to say his only robes. He’d had one other set that he’d left at Headquarters when he first went north to join the pack, but going back to the Grimmauld Place house now would be too risky. It wasn’t worth it merely to reclaim a few possessions.  
   
Dumbledore of all people, Remus felt sure, wouldn’t have minded what any of them wore.  
   
Tonks had gone ahead to Hogwarts, as one of the Aurors keeping a watchful eye on the school and the crowds that were surely already converging there. So Remus dressed alone in the quiet of her empty flat, his only companions the crates and trunks full of the belongings they would take with them into their new life together.  
   
A life with someone – a life with _Tonks_ – was a thing Remus had never allowed himself to hope for. Even now, he hardly dared to think about it too closely, for fear the dream would dissolve. When he pictured Tonks’ smile and her laughing eyes, and thought of her saying, _What I want is to be with you_ , terror and wonder mixed in him until he could barely breathe.  
   
But to his own astonishment, it seemed the wonder finally outweighed the fear. Or perhaps he’d simply learned to embrace wonder despite fear, and maybe that was the more important lesson anyway.  
   
Remus settled his much-patched robes around his shoulders, then cast a mirroring charm to check his reflection, since Tonks had already packed away the mirror that had hung on the wall of the flat. It gave him a thrill to be able to perform these small, incidental spells again. He had missed his wand, and his magic.  
   
Remus studied his reflection, in the watery image the charm produced. What he saw was a worn-looking man, his hair going too rapidly grey and his face gaunt from months of living at the edge of hunger. His simple black robes were respectable enough, but it was plain to see that they were nowhere near new.  
   
But even in the pale approximation of his image rendered by the mirroring charm, Remus could see the change wrought in himself, some indefinable alteration in his features effected by the simple presence of happiness.  
   
No wonder Anna and Serena had known from the moment they saw him that something had changed.  
   
Remus vanished the reflection and tucked his wand carefully away in his robes. He hoped not to need it today, not for battle at least, but after this many years with the Order of the Phoenix, he knew better than to go into any crowd situation unprepared.  
   
He left the flat, navigated the streets of Hogsmeade in the bright sunlight, and joined the flood of witches and wizards setting out along the road that led from the village to the school. Hogsmeade was full to bursting with mourners who had come from far and wide to pay their respects, staying at the inns and renting private rooms and even camping in the fields at the edge of the village. Now it felt as though the whole world were walking the road to Hogwarts, shoulder to shoulder in their sombre robes, united in this pilgrimage.   
   
The school gates stood flung wide, and at either side of them two Aurors Remus didn’t recognise watched over the mass of funeral-goers streaming through. Remus allowed himself to be borne along with the crowd, up around the side of the school and down the sloping lawn to the lake. A sea of white chairs stood in neat rows, reflecting the sunlight blindingly back at the sky. The chairs faced the lake, which was equally brilliant today and utterly becalmed.  
   
A contingent from the Ministry were present, which meant Tonks was relieved from duty now that the ceremony was about to start. Remus’ eyes roved the crowd and found her amongst the rapidly filling rows of chairs. She had one hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun as she, too, looked around for him. Her hair was a vibrant pink again today, and Remus’ heart ached with gladness at the sight of it.  
   
“Wotcher!” Tonks called, when she spotted Remus threading his way through the chairs to her.  
   
She was still shading her eyes with her hand when he reached her. The sunshine around them was so bright, it made everything it touched feel like a small, separate world set apart from the normal progression of time, a moment caught forever inside the flare of a camera’s flash.  
   
“Remus,” Tonks said. “You all right?”  
   
Dumbledore was gone, impossible though that seemed. They were locked in a terrible war against Voldemort, with no clear path forward. And yet –  
   
“Yes,” Remus said, reaching out to grasp Tonks’ hand.  
   
She smiled at him, and Remus knew he had spoken the truth.  
   
They took their seats, and Remus looked around and saw many of the Order nearby. Kingsley and Moody were there, and of course the Weasleys – there were Molly and Arthur, and Fleur laughing softly at something Bill had said as she supported him on her arm, and Fred and George looking every inch the flashy young businessmen they now were. There was Arabella Figg, who had watched over Harry in patient anonymity through the years of his early childhood, now dabbing gently at the corners of her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. And of course any moment now the students would emerge from the school together with the Hogwarts staff, many of whom were members of the Order of the Phoenix, or as good as such. They had lost from amongst their ranks, but they were still strong.  
   
The students filed out from the castle in a sombre parade of dark dress robes, and came and filled in the remaining rows of white chairs. The Ministry officials took their seats, as did the Hogwarts staff.  
   
And then the air filled with the eerie strains of a Mermish lament. Remus felt grief rising in his chest, a hot mass filling his throat, because the Mermish song seemed to express so exactly what Remus felt – his great love and respect for Dumbledore, his shocked disbelief that such a powerful man could be gone, so suddenly and completely.  
   
Heads turned as Hagrid strode down the aisle between the seats, his head lifted stoically even as tears coursed silently down his cheeks. He bore Dumbledore’s body before him, swathed in star-spangled purple velvet and so fragile-looking in Hagrid’s arms.  
   
Hagrid laid his delicate burden on the marble table at the front, then turned and returned the way he’d come, blowing his nose at a volume that appeared to dismay many of the wizards and witches he passed. Next to Remus, Tonks give a little choking laugh, even as tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. Remus squeezed her hand in his, and she squeezed back.  
   
A Ministry officiant took his place at the front of the crowd. He was a small, white-haired man Remus had seen many times over the years, conducting weddings and funerals. Far too many funerals, and far too many of them for people Remus loved.  
   
Remus let the man’s words float over him. All these funerals. All these loved ones lost, all these lives cut cruelly short. Remus knew that McGonagall was right: Dumbledore more than anyone would be glad to know there was a little more love in the world.  
   
Tonks’ hand stayed firmly in Remus’ as the officiant returned to his seat amongst the mourners, as white flames sprang up around Dumbledore’s body and became a marble tomb, as the centaurs fired a volley of arrows into the air in tribute then galloped away into the Forbidden Forest, as the merpeople slipped away beneath the green waters of the lake and the witches and wizards began to disperse, wiping their eyes and leaning close against their loved ones.  
   
Remus saw Harry slip from the crowd, setting out alone along the shore of the lake. It was Harry who would need their support now, everything they had to give.  
   
Remus turned to look at Tonks and saw that, she, too, was gazing after Harry. “We’ll fight for him,” she said, with determination in her voice.  
   
Remus nodded. There had never been any doubt of that.  
   
Tonks looked down at their clasped hands, then up at Remus, her gaze fierce and strong. “We won’t leave him alone,” she said. “We’re not going to leave him to fight alone in the dark. Even if Harry’s the one who’s got to face Voldemort in the end, we can be there for him along the way. Maybe that’s always been the point of the Order, all along – we’re here to help to light the way.”

– – – – –  
   
**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will not continue into book 7, because I'm not interested in taking things all the way up to the book's bitter end... But I’ve written a bunch of individual stories and scenes set during that year! Many of them are happy, bright moments to counterbalance the overall darkness of the Deathly Hallows year: 
> 
> “[Seasons Change But We Remain](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2790632)” _(glimpses set throughout the DH year)_
> 
> “[Can’t Return, We Can Only Look](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2796566)” _(just after the wedding)_
> 
> “[Lionheart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1108747)" _(a happy little R/T moment, set soon after they're together)_
> 
> “[Sleeping](http://archiveofourown.org/works/634197)” _(a sweet and reflective moment, also soon after they're together)_
> 
> “[Counting Time in the Lunar Tide](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2811686)” _(a full moon, early in the year)_
> 
> “[Already There](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1991916)” _(Remus returns to Tonks, and has a conversation with Andromeda)_
> 
> “[Go On, Try](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2009031)” _(Remus has returned to Tonks, and has a conversation with Ted)_
> 
> “[Yahrzeit](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1062818)” _(Tonks helps Remus through Halloween and the difficult memories it brings; in a sense a continuation of the Halloween chapters of this story: chapter 5 of Be the Light in My Lantern and chapter 10 of Raise Your Lantern High)_
> 
> “[Unexpected](http://archiveofourown.org/works/627829)” _(I don't consider it quite “canon,” but there's a bit of R/T in it)_
> 
> “[Lupercalia](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1522205)” _(a sweet R/T moment, after the full moon)_
> 
> “[Easter Sun](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1318951)” _(Tonks and Ginny friendship, and a bit of reflection about their respective frustratingly noble, lovable men)_
> 
> “[Like a Cat in the Sun](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2281263)” _(another happy R/T moment, with cameos by several of my favorite female characters)_
> 
> “[Precisely What I Mean](http://archiveofourown.org/works/630598)” _(Tonks, Remus and baby Teddy)_
> 
>  
> 
> And that's not all! Here are some stories that catch up with Teddy, a few years on:
> 
> “[Ginny, Harry, Teddy, Family](http://archiveofourown.org/works/629428)” _(just as it says, Ginny, Harry and Teddy starting to become a family to each other)_
> 
>  ~~[then a still-to-be-written short story featuring some of the werewolves whose lives Remus touched, as well as Teddy and Andromeda – tentatively titled either “If You've Got a Lantern, Hold It High” or “La Ronde du Petit Loup-Garou” or possibly both]~~ This is now written! It's here: [If You've Got a Lantern Hold It High](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11512560/chapters/25835337)
> 
> “[Saying Yes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/821297/chapters/1556418)” _(Andromeda and Teddy's continuing lives, post-war)_
> 
> “[That Great Unseen Good Man](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1137166)” _(Teddy hears more about Remus from Harry)_
> 
> “[Waiting for the Snow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5860888)” _(Teddy hears stories about his parents, while waiting for Victoire to come back from France)_
> 
>  
> 
> STAY TUNED for a small “coda” of sorts to the “Be the Light in My Lantern” series – it will be a short story that catches up a few years later with Serena, Joy, Teddy and Andromeda. (Mentioned above as “If You've Got a Lantern, Hold It High”/“La Ronde du Petit Loup-Garou”.) The best thing to do if you want to be sure to see that story when it's ready would be to subscribe to the [“Be the Light in My Lantern” series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/325274). (Update: now written! See following chapter, which is actually just a note about this following story, "If You've Got a Lantern Hold It High")


	23. NOT A CHAPTER – INFO ON THE SMALL "CODA" STORY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a chapter; this is just a note explaining where to find the small "coda" – a companion story to this series – that I'd mentioned so long ago.

"If You've Got a Lantern Hold It High" is finally complete! This is the small coda/sequel I'd mentioned so long ago, which rejoins Serena and Joy four years after the end of "Raise Your Lantern High" (three years after the end of Deathly Hallows). You'll also see Andromeda and Teddy, and get a glimpse of how the wizarding world and Hogwarts are doing, too, in the post-war world...

Yes, it took me over a year of thinking and pondering, and writing off and on, and actually I'd been thinking about this for a while even before that. I wanted to do Joy's story justice. (Though...don't get confused: She goes by River in the upcoming story, since that's her werewolf name.) I hope you enjoy it!

I've added the story to this series (the "Be the Light in My Lantern" series), or you can simply follow this link: [If You've Got a Lantern Hold It High.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11512560/chapters/25835337)


End file.
